


Beneath the Claws and Cobwebs

by shortstackedcheesecake96



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Beauty and the Beast Elements, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 13:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10617903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortstackedcheesecake96/pseuds/shortstackedcheesecake96
Summary: Kyle Broflovski is 28 and bored of village life in the Bedfordshire countryside, with only his father and his books to keep him company. Eric Cartman is an orphaned lord of the manor with a dark secret. Kyle jumps at the chance to stay at a beautiful manor house but finds more than just adventure at Tenorman Hall. 'Beauty and the Beast' inspired AU.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I didn't expect to be writing another multi-chapter so quickly, but I was so excited about this AU that I had to write it! Besides from Beauty and the Beast, the other huge inspiration for this story was the short story 'The Courtship of Mr Lyon' which is a Beauty and the Beast retelling by Angela Carter. It really is an amazing, and beautifully written short story! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this first chapter/prologue and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you for reading!

**December 1924**

The miserable English winter, and his dreadful, liquor-induced headache had kept Eric in the drawing room all day, recovering from yet another party he couldn't afford. The servants had been sheepish around him; bringing him drinks, his tea, his dinner on a tarnished silver tray and nodding to themselves when they received a callous grunt of apparent gratitude in return. When the house was quiet enough he could overhear them murmuring in the hall, fretting over the expenses, but he was in a too despondent state of mind to get out of his armchair and chastise them. What would be the point? He would only be repeating himself, and being liberal with sharp words was sure to make them dull and blunt. And, he too, had grown unaffected by their polite words of concern.

Whilst organising his latest party at Tenorman Hall, apprehension surrounding the event was like a fever in the servants' quarters. Coarse reprimands proved an effective cure for a while, before Eric decided that ignorance was the best solution. What did they know about throwing parties? Eric was lord of the manor, this is what he was raised to do! When he was a child he had followed his dear mother like an eager little shadow around the house as she finalised the details from everything to intimate dinner parties, to elaborate masked balls sure to fill the society pages of every newspaper in England to the brim. How long ago that seemed, an idyll coated in pollen, a dream coated in dust. A more recent memory floated to the surface of his groggy subconscious; he was stumbling between the murmuring crowds that had gathered in the grand hall the night before, babbling about some fashionable topic, splashes of alcohol leaping from his glass and onto the outfit he had worn for the past four parties. Last night his guests had seemed impressed, charmed, laughing with him. Now he realised they were laughing to placate him, whispering once his back had turned. His guests were so much older than him, friends of his parents who had remembered Tenorman Hall in its prime, the father Eric never had a chance to meet, and he was the eighteen year old barely-adult master of the house, a child king to smile sympathetically at, and an orphan to pity. God, had he actually proposed a toast to his mother again last night? The funeral was eight months ago, it was embarrassing to grieve so publicly for so long.

Eric groaned, and ran his thumb over the bumpy, ornate frame of the mirror in his lap. It had belonged to his mother, and was the only piece of silver in the house that hadn't tarnished. It was if it had absorbed her beauty after years of her staring into its blank, glass face. Eric kept it by his bedside now. He glanced down, and was confronted by his stark reflection. His hair had fallen into his eyes that were framed by purple, exhausted shadows. He felt ashamed that the mirror had fallen into his possession, a disappointing demotion, before he recalled how many times it had reflected his mother's pained eyes, wobbly smile, greying hair, and the house that was already crumbling around them.

Over the sound of the crackling fire he heard a muffled knock at the front door. One of the servants answered it, and Eric could distinguish the voice of the most recent addition to the house; a young man named Leopold, taken on before Eric's mother passed away. A conversation began, but Eric didn't strain his ears to listen to it.

The door to the drawing room creaked open, but Eric didn't look up.

"Master Eric?"

"What?"

"Someone at the door for you, sir," Leopold said. "A, a woman. I don't recognise her…"

"Then tell her to go away," Eric replied, still not looking up. "Tell her I'm not feeling well."

"I told her that, sir, but she won't go," Leopold's voice was starting to strain with panic. "She says it's a matter of urgency."

Eric laughed at that and got up, his limbs aching from sitting in the chair for so long. He stretched his arms and smoothed down his smoking jacket, before striding out of the room. He shoved Leopold aside, but still the shy butler followed him to the front door.

The December chill had drifted into the airy hall, and Eric wrapped his arms around his chest to brace himself from the cold. He winced at the sight of the hag at the door; she wore her shabby shawl pulled up tightly over her head, and her hunched stance and shapeless attire made her appear deformed, hunchbacked. Her skin was ancient and weathered and cataract had glazed over her yellowed eyes. Outside it was starting to snow, and Eric could make out the old woman's horse and cart waiting patiently for her in the distance.

"Well?" he asked. "What do you want?"

"Please, sir, I've been travelling all night, on my way home from market, you see," the hag replied. "It's bitter cold, frozen outside, and it ain't safe for me and my horse on the road! I saw your house and almost wept! Your groundsman, grumpy lad with a funny turn of phrase, was kind enough to let me through the gates, bless his heart! I only hope the master of the house is just as kind! But don't be thinking I expect to stay the night for free! Not that I'm a wealthy woman…"

"Then how do you expect to pay me for my hospitality?" Eric interrupted. The cold was making him impatient.

A wide gummy smile spread across the old woman's face and she reached into her shawl, presenting a beautiful, perfect rose. The scarlet petals were vibrant, almost glowing, in the late evening. Eric glanced at Leopold, and saw he was just as surprised by its quality.

"It ain't much, but it's all I have sir," the old woman explained. "And it's beautiful!"

Slowly, she handed Eric the rose. He examined the gentle curve of the petals, and rolled the stem between his fingers. It was exquisite, but not a worthy payment, and he could hardly afford to keep himself and the servants living here, let alone entertain overnight guests. And why should he let this woman into his house? He owed her nothing, and Tenorman Hall was not open to the public. Not yet, at least. He'd rather die than let that happen.

"A rose!" He exclaimed, throwing the flower on the ground. "That's your payment?"

The old woman clutched her chest, and even Leopold winced beside his master. Mouth agape, the hag glanced between the rose at Eric's feet and his stern face.

"B-b-but I told you sir! It's all I have!"

"And it's worth nothing!" Eric snapped. "Do you really expect me to offer you shelter for a single rose? How dare you assume you have a right to my home! I would never let a penniless, ugly cretin like you step foot in this house! Not even if you offered me all the gold in the world! Now, get out!"

The old woman listened to this calmly, her wrinkled face was not creased by any offence or upset. She seemed detached from Eric's words, and he wondered if she was, in fact, senile. But, suddenly, she began to float. Her feet left the ground and her ragged clothes lifted to reveal pale, bony ankles and wrists. Suspended in the air, and emitting a piercing white light she resembled a Gothic ghoul. Leopold was shaking beside Eric, while Eric stared at her with a combination of disgust and awe, refusing to take his eyes off her. A gasp, like one waking from a bad dream in the middle of the night, echoed through the house. A howling gust of wind rattled the chandelier, and the portraits of forgotten ancestors on the walls. Eric and Leopold backed away and cowered from the terrible sorceress.

Her body twisted and she twirled in the air like unravelling silk, descended like a dove shot out of the sky; anything but human. Yet standing in the doorway now, she was very much a woman, possibly the ultimate, splendid example of humanity. But Eric felt no arousal, no admiration, for she was terrifyingly beautiful. Her shawl had fallen from her head, revealing long black hair that glimmered like spilt ink. Her ivory skin had a glittering, iridescent quality but she cast a prepossessing shadow, she stood taller than Eric now. Despite her height her body was in proportion, and her face was so symmetrical it could have been a mask. Her plump lips were redder than the rose she offered, so red they were almost purple, slabs of juicy meat rather than delicate petals. She could have been a vampire for all Eric knew. Or an Amazon. The long black gown she wore seemed it like it had melded to her unnaturally perfect body, clinging like desperate, pleading fingers to her wide hips. The hem of her dress unfurled like gnarled, wild thorns, like tentacles. The garment – that looked more alive than even she was – reminded Eric of the stoles he had seen draped across the shoulders of the women who had attended his latest party, the fur still plush and soft, when their eyes were very much dead and cold.

"You were foolish to deny me, Eric Cartman," the sorceress said, her voice was low and taut.

"H-h-how?" Eric managed. "How did you know-"

"For a youth I have never met a person so bitter, so resentful, so selfish and unkind," she continued, marching purposefully and slowly over to Eric and choking him in her suffocating gaze. "You live in a superficial world, and now that you have lost everybody you love, you can only take solace in material things. You numb your senses, and spend money you don't have on the company of vacuous and fickle people. These people have ugly, rotten souls. Yet you turn away a stranger in need? When you should be using your wealth – however waning – to help the poor, miserable hag at your door. Do not be deceived by appearances, Eric Cartman."

She extended her long, pale fingers, and although she didn't touch him Eric doubled over. The ache he experienced in his limbs during puberty returned but tenfold, grabbing the muscles in his back and stretching them, pulling them, until he was so hunched over it felt like he would collapse into the floorboards. And he would tunnel like a mole until he was away from Tenorman Hall, free from this torture, or perhaps he would keep falling like Alice into this grotesque Horrorland. He looked at his legs and realised they were growing, and broadening and taking new shape right before his eyes. He heard the seams of his smoking jacket, his trousers, rip, and with the stiches undone he could finally see what he was transforming into. He cried out and tears burned his eyes when long, jagged claws split his fingernails and toenails, tore apart the flesh and rendered his feet and hands paws.

The sorceress stood over Eric, face impassive, bored, as he seethed and sobbed. Fur started to sprout from his follicles, more rapid than Eric had ever seen hair grow, and thick and untamed it wore away the thinning, stretched material of his clothes. Eric heard Leopold shriek beside him, he was too stunned and horrified to do the same. There was a white-hot pain at the centre of his skull, worse than any migraine, and Eric covered his face with his new arms, not wanting to look at the sorceress. It hurt too much. He shivered and whimpered, and the tears clung to his fur-covered face. He tried to cry out, but he roared instead. Bewildered and hysterical, he tried again, but all he could do was roar helplessly.

"Do not lose everything in a greedy attempt to fill the holes in your life with nothing," the sorceress finally spoke. "You must learn to love truly, and become somebody worthy of loving. Take this rose," she picked up the flower and handed it to Eric. He grasped it clumsily in his paw. "You have ten years until the last petal falls. If you do not change your ways, and if you do not find someone who you can love and who will love you in return, you will remain a beast forever."

Eric opened his mouth to scream at her, to curse her, to beg her, but she had already turned away and disappeared. The front door was still open, letting the snow drift into the house. Eric ran to it, peered through the relentless storm to find her horse and cart, and he would go after her, chase her on all fours if he had to, like the animal… _the beast_ … he had become. But he could see nothing but snow flurries. The flakes settled in his fur, joining his dried tears. He threw his head back, and roared once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ten years later**

Kyle sighed quietly to himself as he left the bakery. His shopping complete he could now head to the library to return the book he had finished. Kyle hadn't experienced much outside of England – and only London and Bedfordshire at that - but when he thought back on every storybook and novel he had pored over throughout his life the nostalgia immersed him in all kinds of epic settings; humid, colourful jungles, grey, stormy oceans and fantastical castles. These were bittersweet recollections however, unable to grasp in reality, and he often wondered what lay beyond the village, the county, and if he would ever see it for himself.

"Kyle!"

He furrowed his eyebrows at the disembodied voice calling his name. Feminine, he noticed, confident, alluring to some. But not to him, it only stoked a pang of dread. He smothered an exasperated sigh when Leslie approached him.

"Hello, Leslie," he said with a smile.

"Fancy seeing you out in the village!" She grinned. She was a couple of years younger than Kyle yet spoke with the assurance of somebody twice her age. "I should notify the _South Park Gazette_!"

Kyle hoped his smile hid his irritation. It seemed that she was not only assured in herself, but everybody else too. That must be one of the perks, Kyle assumed, of being the doctor's daughter.

"Yes, well, I do try to pop by every week," Kyle replied. "To do some shopping, you know."

"A man who actually shops? Oh, what I wouldn't give to have a chap like you about the house!"

Kyle chuckled politely. "And I do hope you will someday, Leslie."

She lowered her head just slightly, but looked up at Kyle in a way that was supposed to be flirtatious, but he could only focus on the calculating twinkle in her eyes.

"Oh, believe me, I know I will," she replied, reaching out to gently stroke Kyle's arm.

He balked at the touch, and tried to discreetly back away. Kyle wasn't used to such forwardness, although his memory of other girls flirting with him was hazy. He had just moved here, and Leslie was barely a teenager then.

"So what are your plans for the day, if you don't mind me asking?" she asked, undeterred. "If you're not busy Tweek's tea room is supposed to be wonderful."

"Is it?" Kyle asked, glancing over Leslie's shoulder.

"Yes!" She grinned. "I went there just last week. Odd name for a tea room, mind you."

"Yes it is," Kyle nodded, before brushing past her. "But, I'm, uh, awfully sorry Leslie, I must go. I have a few more errands to run, and then I need to get this shopping back to the house."

"Well, all right," Leslie replied, hands on her hips. "But you must accompany me to tea sometime! Or perhaps dinner? I know my parents are desperate to meet you."

"They are?" Kyle asked. It was hard to believe her when she said everything with such artificial sincerity. "Well, that's very nice of them. But I really must go."

Kyle waved at her before quickly walking away, sighing once more as he walked down the street, and smiling when the library came into view. The door creaked when Kyle opened it, the same sort of creak that his own front door possessed. As always, the library appeared to be empty except for himself and the librarian. A middle-aged woman, with thick-rimmed glasses and the most peculiar corkscrew curls that she didn't bother to pin back or tie up. Kyle had learned she moved to South Park from Bristol many years ago, when the woman she was living with sadly passed away. But she had always loved reading, and decided to take up the librarian post. What better company, she had said to Kyle, than hundreds of books?

"Hello, Miss Victoria!" he smiled, making his way over to the desk.

"Hello, Kyle!" She replied, looking up from her magazine. "Here to return your book already?"

"I couldn't put it down!" Kyle reached into his satchel, and placed the novel on the desk. Miss Victoria then picked it up, adjusting her glasses so she could read the title.

"Ah, _Jane Eyre_. One of my favourites! I do love the Bronte's."

"What do you recommend?" Kyle asked.

"Well, _Wuthering Heights_ is marvellous, of course," she replied. "But _Villette_ is wonderful too, and written by Charlotte Bronte."

"I'll look for that then," Kyle smiled. "And I had my eye on _Jekyll and Hyde_ last week. Thank you, Miss Victoria."

With that, Kyle wandered over to the shelves and quickly found the bookcase devoted to 'Nineteenth Century English Literature.' With so many books to read, he was trying to make his way through the library's entire catalogue, although it was the numerous works of fiction that he was most eager to flip through. Running his fingers along the coarse, thick spines he soon found Charlotte Bronte's _Villette_ and _Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde_ by Robert Louis Stevenson; a short book, he was sure to finish it in a day or two.

"Did you find everything?" Miss Victoria asked, as Kyle made his way back over to her desk.

"Yes, thank you," he replied, watching as the insides of the novels were stamped.

"You're welcome," Miss Victoria nodded. "And I hope you enjoy _Villette_!" She added as Kyle was about to leave.

"What about _Jekyll and Hyde_?" Kyle asked, opening the library door. "Do you not like it?"

"It's not for me, I'm afraid. Those foggy London streets make me quite uneasy."

Kyle chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, they're not as foggy as the Victorians make out."

In fact, Kyle remembered the street of his childhood home to be clean, and well-lit, with trees lining the pavement and a lovely view of the lush green park he had spent many summer afternoons in with a book and packed lunch.

"I suppose you would know better than me," Miss Victoria nodded. "Enjoy the books!"

"Thank you, again!" Kyle said, before leaving the library.

As he walked home, memories of his childhood floated to the front of his mind. Unlike the enthralling written scenes that had captured his heart and imagination, these memories were real, accompanied by tangible sensation and long-lost thought. The most pressing memory was his father pacing the window in the lounge, his restless march obstructing the pleasant view outside. Kyle had once wondered why his father ever wanted to leave London, but he soon came to realise he didn't have much of a choice.

* * *

Their house was just outside the village of South Park, situated on a country lane. It was perched right near the edge in fact, where the grass met the gravel and the unruly, pretty weeds that grew between the two. When they first moved there, Kyle was enchanted by the cottage that seemed to have leapt right out of the pages of a fairy tale. He supposed the spell hadn't waned just yet, for he still smiled when he opened the front door and stepped into the quaint lounge. His father hadn't moved from his small desk since he left to go shopping, hunched over his work (being the only solicitor in South Park kept him busy). Before Kyle could greet his father, he asked: "Busy in the village?"

"No, not really," Kyle replied, crossing the lounge to stand by his father's desk.

"Anything exciting happen?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. I spoke to Doctor Meyers' daughter Leslie, she spotted me coming out of the bakery. And then I returned _Jane Eyre_ to the library and borrowed two new books-"

"How is she?"

Kyle furrowed his eyebrows and chuckled. "Who? Jane Eyre?"

"No, no, Leslie Meyers," his father replied, his tone fussy like he missed the joke. "Very polite girl. Always stops to chat when I see her in the village. Charming too, and attractive, you know," he chuckled then, and looked up at Kyle. "Well, I hardly need to tell you that. Red-blooded young man like yourself can spot a pretty girl better than I can."

Kyle fidgeted, wanting to give the most agreeable answer possible.

"I, I suppose," he said. Clearly it placated his father, who returned to his work with a small smile. "Um, Miss Victoria recommended another of Charlotte Bronte's books to me. _Villette_. I had never heard of it before. I suppose it's not as popular as-"

"And she comes from a good family too," his father interrupted. He didn't look up from his work. "Wealthy."

"I imagine they are," Kyle murmured, looking around the room as if he could retrieve the conversation, but he sensed it was too late for that. "I'll, uh, just put the shopping away. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"You can help me organise some of these papers if you wouldn't mind," his father replied. "Once you've seen to the animals and made us some lunch."

Kyle nodded, and his head was lowered when he made his way to the kitchen. He hung his satchel on the back of one of the chairs, before placing the shopping bags on the table and putting the items he had bought in the cupboards. Once he was finished, he picked up the small, wicker egg basket from the counter and some feed, stepping into the back garden.

Kyle thought he would miss his old park terribly when he arrived in the village, and would have no peaceful place he could escape to, to lose himself in his books. But he had gasped at the stretch of green, dewy grass they had been lucky to secure with their property, fields that had rolled into one another like an oceanic scene. Not all his, of course, but he had explored the area with gallons of that exhilarating country air in his lungs, strolling the lanes and woodlands, and jumping over fences, as though at sixteen his childhood had been replenished. That was twelve years ago, and little had changed. Well, except for the arrival of the animals. They had all this land, his father remarked a year into their move, and weren't doing anything with it. What a waste! So the chickens, geese, and goats came along and turned their once massive garden into a smallholding. Kyle didn't mind, it was a nice little business venture, and the silence of the countryside provided him with all the peace he could have needed. He didn't need acres of land all to himself.

The geese and chickens were bustling about, clucking and quacking incessantly as if in conversation with one another. Kyle chuckled as they huddled around him, obviously knowing they were going to be fed. He scattered some on the ground, static for a moment as the geese and chickens pecked around him, blocking his path.

"Excuse me, ladies," Kyle laughed as they eventually cleared away.

He crouched in front of the chicken coop, collecting the eggs and brushing the feathers off them before placing them in the basket. The goats roamed outside the makeshift enclosure the poultry were kept in, lazily munching on the grass. Kyle patted them on the head as he passed, counting each one. One goat however was lying on the floor, shivering in the cool, spring afternoon.

"Oh…" Kyle whispered, kneeling down next to her and setting his basket aside.

"What's the matter?" He asked, stroking her stomach and she bleated. Kyle winced at the sound; taut, loud and irritable. He noticed a small pool of vomit had soaked into the grass and he sighed.

"I'll have to call in Stan's tomorrow," he muttered to himself. Frowning, he patted the goat on her head this time, and her eyelids drooped in appreciation. "I have to go now but it'll be all right."

Kyle stood up, basket in hand, and made his way back to the house. Before he entered however, he looked back over his shoulder at the poor, sick goat. Her white hair seemed such a stark contrast against the grass. How had Kyle not noticed before? The other goats had started to gather around her, sniffing at the grass, peering at her with concern. Kyle hoped Stan wasn't too busy tomorrow.

* * *

When Kyle checked on the goat after breakfast, he was greeted by the troubling sight of the poor creature still lying in the same spot as yesterday. Thankfully, however, Kyle saw that she was still breathing. Sighing to himself he then hurried to Stan's veterinary practice in the village. His face was pinked, and he was breathless by the time he reached Stan's door, and Stan was gathering his things and slipping on his coat before Kyle could even finish explaining what had him so worked up. He was glad to be driven back to the house in Stan's car, the seats warm from where the sun had shone through the windows.

Now, Kyle was leaning against the fence of the enclosure while Stan was crouching beside the goat, stroking her for co-operating in his examination.

"There we are, old girl…" Kyle heard Stan murmur, before he stood up and addressed him. "Appears to be a stomach bug, that's all. Nothing serious. I would keep her away from the others though." Stan reached into his bag and handed Kyle a small bottle. "Give her this medicine three times a day, and she should be right as rain within a week."

Kyle smiled and nodded, putting the bottle in his trouser pocket. "I will, thank you."

Stan grinned in return, delving into his coat pocket and pulling out a cigarette packet and lighter. "I'm glad I could help."

Kyle watched Stan move beside him, the rickety wire fence dipping beneath them both as Stan leaned against it. He placed the cigarette between his lips, and as he lowered his head slightly so the tip and the flame could meet, a jet black lock of hair fell loose.

Kyle smiled to himself, his disarrayed hairdo made Stan look boyish, younger than his thirty four years. It reminded Kyle of when he first met Stan; he was a newly qualified vet, and Kyle had been living in South Park for a few years and was still friendless. They bumped into each other on the lane. Kyle was on his way to the library and Stan was paying a visit to one of the neighbouring farms. Kyle hadn't been sure if it was the collision, the surprise of seeing somebody else strolling along the usually quiet lane, or Stan's good looks that made his heart seem to stop. Stan had smiled, apologised, and was off, but Kyle replayed that exhilarating minute in his head for days afterwards, and looked out of his window every morning in the hopes of reuniting with the polite, handsome stranger.

Kyle often blushed reminiscing about their first encounter. Stan was the first person he had ever had feelings for besides the more dashing heroes of the novels he had read. When his father had set up the smallholding and Stan had to make frequent visits to ensure the animals were healthy and well-treated, Kyle was giddy at the prospect of seeing him. But he realised that such feelings were silly, unreasonable, so he learned to conquer them. It was the only way he could purse a friendship with Stan, which was something he wanted very much. Especially when Stan was always so keen to talk to him, and when Kyle felt he had finally found somebody he could relate to in the village.

Stan took a drag on his cigarette before turning to Kyle and asking, "Do you want one?"

Kyle shook his head. "No, thanks."

The wind rolled over the fields and hills, and the smoke from Stan's cigarette seemed to battle against the breeze.

"Do you know Leslie Meyers?" Kyle asked.

"Not really, no, she's a fair bit younger than me," Stan replied. "I know her father though, obviously, can't say I have the fondest memories of him."

"Why?"

Stan smiled, his eyes glinting like he was about to let Kyle in on a big secret. "If I tell you, you mustn't think me silly."

"I'll try not to," Kyle smiled in return.

"All right…" Stan took another drag on his cigarette, as if to prepare himself. "I hate hospitals, doctors, all that."

Kyle pursed his lips, but he could still feel the tremors of laughter in his throat, vibrating against his sealed lips.

"You promised me you wouldn't do that!"

"I never!" Kyle protested, inadvertent laughter in his voice. "I said I wouldn't think you silly, and I don't."

"Then why are you laughing? Anyway, whenever I think of going to the surgery as a boy I shiver. I suppose if it wasn't for my 'fear' I'd have nothing against the man. He was hardly sympathetic though, I can never remember him comforting me when I started to cry. Even the smell of the place would be enough to set me off. He had a very monotone voice, awfully flat, like a vicar rather than a doctor."

"So if you hate hospitals why did you become a vet?"

"I love animals," Stan shrugged, before his soft smile vanished and his eyebrows furrowed. "Why do you ask about Leslie, anyway? Are you interested in her?"

Kyle sighed. "No. My father seems more interested in her than me… _not like that_."

Stan was trying to hide his chuckles now. "Sorry, you just took me by surprise."

"I saw her in town and when I mentioned it in passing to my father he wouldn't shut up," Kyle explained. "It's all he wanted to talk about. He seems quite keen on setting us up."

"Well, Wendy tells me she's not a very nice girl"

Kyle had been dismayed at first, when he realised Stan was married. But when he met Wendy it was hard to dislike her, or be too jealous. He was impressed actually, utterly charmed by the couple. He found it incredibly romantic how two opposites like Stan and Wendy could fall in love. Besides, it would be ridiculous to be jealous, Kyle had reasoned. He liked to think of himself as a practical man, even when his own muddled desires and aspirations betrayed him.

"I gathered that," Kyle replied. "There's just something about her that seems… off."

"Wendy has said she's sly."

"Perhaps that's it," Kyle muttered, before shaking his head. "But I'm judging this girl and I hardly know her, maybe something will seem off about all of them."

The dent in Stan's brow returned. "All of who? What are you talking about?"

"The girls around here. I seem to want none of it."

"Then what do you want?"

Kyle sighed, looked out over the countryside as if what he wanted could be easily spotted on the horizon, something attainable he could find and reach someday. But it wasn't, and all he saw was the same sky, the same meadows and fields he had been seeing for the past twelve years.

"I just want something different, something more. I can't quite explain it, I… I can't be the only one who realises there's more to life than just this village? Don't get me wrong, I love this house, and I love this countryside, but not enough that I would stay here forever. I go into the village and I feel like a phantom, disconnected, like I don't quite belong. Maybe I don't try… but I don't want to try, that's the problem." Kyle shook his head, staring at his shoes. "Listen to me, I'm hardly making sense…"

"I think I understand."

Kyle looked up at Stan with widened eyes. Despite their friendship, and despite how much he felt he could relate to Stan, he had always assumed this was one issue he was alone on.

"Do you?" he asked.

"Yes," Stan replied. "I studied in London, and I was so nervous at first. But coming back here for Christmas and Easter was such an underwhelming experience and I yearned to go back to the city. It was so exciting, and vast, and everything seemed possible when you were there. Here, it all seemed so quiet and narrow."

"Exactly! But…"

"What?"

"Why did you come back? If you enjoyed yourself so much in London?"

Stan frowned, shook his head. "I could never have afforded to live there, and with all the farms around here I was sure to make more money. Strange, isn't it? How money can be so freeing and yet so inhibiting?"

Kyle thought of his father pacing in front of that old window again, and how he could hardly bring himself to look at their possessions as they were packed away.

"Hmm, yes, funny that," Kyle murmured, before he raised his voice again. "I wonder if all those wildly successful businessman, the gentry, ever feel dissatisfied with life?"

"I suppose," Stan replied. "They're only human. Take the Cartman family for instance, now there's a cautionary tale about wealth. The lord of the manor dead before the heir to his estate is born, his wife eventually killed by nerves, and the son squandering their remaining wealth and who no one has seen since. The house is probably shut up now, most of the manor houses in the country will be in ten years time. There's just no place for them anymore."

Kyle blinked, Stan had reeled such a scandalous and depressing story off so casually.

"I've never even heard of this family," he said.

Stan's eyebrows rose and he chuckled to himself. "Really? You don't know Tenorman Hall? It's only a couple of miles outside the village, how could you not have heard?"

Kyle laughed sheepishly and scratched the nape of his neck. "I wasn't brought up with the local history like you were."

Stan smiled softly, and nodded.

"You could probably see the house from here on a clear day," he remarked, pointing somewhere in the distance. Kyle's gaze followed the line of his finger but saw nothing but distant trees.

Lowering his arm, Stan looked at his watch.

"Well, I must be off," he said with a sigh.

"I'll walk you out," Kyle offered.

Dodging the chickens and geese, they made it to the back door.

"What do I owe you?" Kyle asked when they stepped into the kitchen.

"Nothing," Stan replied, waving Kyle off. "I was just helping my friend out."

Kyle's shoulders slouched with exasperation, but his smile was one of gratitude.

"That's very kind, Stan, but I have to give you something."

"Fine," Stan yielded, noticing the basket of eggs on the counter. "I'll take half a dozen eggs, please."

Kyle rolled his eyes, but his smile didn't waver as he handed him the basket.

"Thank you," Stan said with a nod.

Hearing the front door shut, Kyle peered over Stan's shoulder.

"Kyle?" his father called out.

"I'm in here!"

"Oh, right…" Kyle heard his father say, before he appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Why, hello Doctor Marsh! I didn't realise you were still here."

"Hello, Mr Broflovski."

"How is she?" Kyle's father asked. "The nanny goat?"

"Oh, fine. Just a stomach bug, that's all," Stan explained. "I told Kyle to keep her away from the others, and prescribed some medicine for her."

"Wonderful, thank you, doctor. Do you have any plans on Friday evening?"

Stan shot Kyle a confused look, but Kyle could only shrug in return.

"I don't believe so," Stan replied.

"Well, I'm throwing a dinner party and I would be delighted for you to attend," Kyle's father beamed, and Kyle imagined him thinking he was in London again.

"Yes, certainly, thank you sir," Stan nodded, before glancing at Kyle. "Kyle never told me about a dinner party."

"Well, this is the first I'm hearing about it too," Kyle added, giving his father a questioning look.

"Oh, it was an impromptu thing," his father replied, easily dropping his once boastful tone. "Only small. I ran into Doctor Meyers in town, and invited him as well."

Stan's voice was fainter when he said, "Lovely, lovely…"

"Yes…" Kyle added, unable to hide his trepidation.

"Oh, and do bring your wife along, Doctor Marsh," his father continued, oblivious to the punctured atmosphere. "Doctor Meyers' daughter will be in need of some female company, I'm sure."

Kyle's body stiffened, feeling like a boulder had dropped into his gut.

* * *

After Stan had left Kyle felt he had to be on his own for a while. Luckily, most of his chores were completed by himself, and after they were all done, he rushed upstairs, grabbed his copy of _Villette_ and his coat, before heading outside to sit under his favourite tree. But not even the wind, the faint noises of the animals, or the novel he was otherwise enjoying could let his mind roam too far from the subject of the looming dinner party, and whenever he looked up from the pages he was struggling to immerse in, he was met with the sight of the house, and his father sat obliviously inside. Eventually Kyle set his novel aside, the pages fluttering in the breeze making an oddly calming sound, like a bird ready to take flight. Kyle closed his eyes and envisioned himself doing the same. Only then, he thought, when his feet were far enough off the ground, when he had the sky at his fingertips would he be able to see beyond that lush green border.

He returned to the house when the day grew dimmer and colder. He had to get supper started, anyway. As he dished out the simple stew he had made, his thoughts once again drifted to the dinner party and the menu. What would they serve? Kyle would have to spend all day in the kitchen, and he grumbled. His father didn't notice when he entered the room, too distracted by the smell of food.

The cutlery clinking against the chipped china replaced conversation. After hours of attempting to distract himself from thinking of it, Kyle was now trying to find a way to broach the topic of the dinner party. Namely, if there was a way out of it.

"So…" Kyle said, idly stirring the stew he had no appetite for. "This dinner party-"

"Yes?" His father looked up from his bowl. "Are you looking forward to it?"

Kyle averted his gaze, he didn't want to witness the glint in his father's eye extinguishing.

"Not really, no…" he replied, so soft he was surprised his father could even hear him.

Kyle thought perhaps he hadn't, when he took so long to respond. In the silence, the dinner table felt a thousand miles long.

"Why not?" his father finally asked.

"I just wish you had mentioned it sooner, that's all," Kyle replied.

"Well, I told you it was an impromptu thing. Spur of the moment, you know. A little spontaneity never hurt anyone, did it?"

Kyle sighed, and looked up from his stew. "But it's a lot of preparation at the last minute."

"I can't help that I don't have a wife around to help me with these things," his father replied, stabbing a potato with his fork a little too harshly.

Kyle winced, his heart stung with a guilt that had been visiting him for as long as he could remember.

"I, I know that," he murmured.

"You'll think of something!" His father said, smiling now. "You're a capable cook! This stew is decent, we'll serve that. Nobody is expecting luxury dining."

Kyle nodded, half-listening.

"Does that put your mind at ease? I want you to enjoy yourself tomorrow, Kyle. That's why I invited Leslie."

Kyle's eyebrows furrowed.

"Why would I enjoy myself in Leslie's company?" he asked.

His father shrugged. "I thought you liked her."

"I hardly know her."

"Well, don't you want to get to know her?" his father asked, returning to his stew before Kyle could answer. "She's a very pretty girl, polite, charming and-"

"Yes, yes, I know, you've said," Kyle cut in, rolling his eyes discreetly.

"It would do us a lot of good if you were to get married, Kyle…"

Kyle almost dropped his spoon into his stew, his whole body seemed to clench, curl up like a startled animal.

"What?" he asked.

"Especially if your in-laws are well off."

Kyle's mind was screaming protests, but his words felt lodged in his throat.

"I… I, I don't understand," Kyle replied, shifting in his seat, nothing felt comfortable. "Where has this talk of marriage come from all of a sudden?"

"Well, it's been in the offing for a while, Kyle, wouldn't you agree?" his father asked with slight incredulity. "You're twenty eight now-"

"So?"

"You should be looking to settle down," his father explained. "Why should I be the one to tell you this?"

That once frightened animal was starting to remember itself, it had teeth, and claws, it could fight back.

"I, I don't know, it never occurred to me."

His father shook his head, grumbled.

"Yes, of course it hasn't," he said, his tone taut and sour. "You've never courted a girl before."

Kyle flushed, tilted his chin to hide his burning face. But maybe that was useless, impossible to conceal just like his disinterest in girls, and courting, and relationships that he once thought had gone unnoticed.

"I've never wanted to," he replied, and admitting that truth out loud was emboldening, impassioning. That horrid, humid flush now fuelled his anger, his indignation. "Besides, I don't feel ready."

"When do you think you'll be ready?" His father asked, voice raised.

_Never._

The word leapt on Kyle's tongue, but faltered before it could leave his mouth. He wasn't prepared to admit it.

"I… I, I don't-"

"That's not good enough, Kyle!" His father exclaimed. "You can't waste any more time! We're living on hardly anything as it is! Haven't you noticed?" He shook his head. "Maybe this is my fault, perhaps I've spoiled you. I've done everything for you. I've home-schooled you, trained you to the best of my abilities, and put a roof over your head and all you've ever been is introverted and unsociable!"

"But never ungrateful!" Kyle snapped. His face was flaring now. "And besides, that's my business!"

"Is that so?!"

"Yes!"

"And you're happy the way you are?!"

"Yes!"

"Will you be happy when I die a penniless old man?! Will you be happy living the rest of your life in poverty?!"

Kyle shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut, appalled that this is where he had driven the conversation to.

"Please don't talk like that, of course I won't!" he cried. He opened his eyes, panting. "But I don't owe you anything for simply doing what a parent is supposed to do."

"Not even getting to know an eligible young woman?" His father asked, his own chest heaving beneath his jumper. Kyle supposed this was more exerting for him than it was for himself. "Giving her a chance?"

"No!" Kyle shouted, before he could stop himself. But he heard what he sounded like, and his throat tightened with shame. He managed to sigh. "But… but I suppose… you're right. I'm sorry, you're right, I do owe you that much."

His father exhaled too, like his victory was an unworthy one.

"I'm sorry too, I never meant to be so harsh," he said, looking up at Kyle. "I just want you to see how important this is. Not just for us, but for you too. You spend so much time alone, Kyle, I think getting to know Leslie will be a good thing."

"Do you?"

His father nodded. "Yes, really."

"Fine," Kyle replied, voice faint. "I suppose I could give her a chance."

"Thank you," his father beamed from across the table. "You're doing me proud."

Kyle smiled tightly, but falsely back. He had obtained a truce, but not a good one.

* * *

Stuck on the same pages of _Villette_ that he had been a few hours ago, Kyle sighed, sunk into the mattress, and stared up at the ceiling. He repeated the bizarre events of the day over and over, searching for meaning in every moment, every conversation. Clearly they were more pressing and intriguing to him than his novel. His bedroom was lit only by the dim lamp at his bedside, buzzing softly with the effort to keep itself glowing. It illuminated most of his bedroom walls and ceiling, the furthest reach of light thinning into shadows. He squinted at the shadows like he was looking at the horizon in the field all over again; out there he had longed to see what was so obscured.

He thought about floating again, about being limitless, independent, free. He didn't have to be rich, he had forgotten what that felt like now, he just had to be in control somehow. Besides, what did wealth guarantee? The security, the opportunity was paradoxically never fixed. A few bad decisions, a few encounters with the wrong people and a dangerous, precarious build-up of ill fortune could make it all combust someday. Kyle winced at the memory of Stan regaling the Cartman's depressing legacy, but with a macabre fascination he wondered if Stan's words were true; on a bright, clear day would he able to see the crumbling Tenorman Hall in the distance? The intensity of his sympathy was startling, and he wanted the family to be remembered. Even if only by himself as a distant observer who never knew them, finding the house through the trees.

Glancing out his bedroom window, Kyle only saw blurred silhouettes, gentle moonlight, and a tiny golden square in the distance. He squinted at the peculiar object. A star? But stars always appeared silvery, and even the glow on the brightest star didn't obscure its shape quite like that. A moth? But moths didn't glow at all, did they? And they hovered in the air, didn't remain still. Kyle threw back the covers and got out of bed, padding to the window to inspect it further. It must have been an extremely bright streetlamp, he reasoned, and if so, he felt sorry for the residents who had to sleep with that obtrusive light pouring into their bedrooms. Kyle shook his head, it couldn't have been! Perhaps it was coming from a house, a building he had never noticed before. He would have to scan the surrounding fields closer tomorrow, but for now it was too dark and strange to make sense of.

Kyle went back to bed and got under the covers, switching off the lamp as he did. Maybe the glow had been a reflection of the bulb on the window? But looking over his shoulder, the tiny golden glow was still visible, like a star waiting to be followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and your feedback, following, and kudos so far! I hope you enjoyed, and I love to know what you think of this latest chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in posting this. As I'm sure most of you know, university is pretty hectic this time of year. There is a slightly uncomfortable, coercive scene with Leslie and Kyle in the car. I understand if that may be difficult for some to read, so please tread with caution. Other than that, thank you so much for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

"Did everybody enjoy?" His father asked as Kyle began to collect everyone's bowls, empty save for the crusts of the bread rolls they had used to mop up the stew.

There was an immediate chorus of 'oh, yes', and 'certainly', and many thanks and praise for Kyle's dinner. He smiled to himself, felt the highest points of his cheeks flush with warmth. Although he was dreading the dinner party, the evening had progressed a lot faster than he would have thought. Stan and Wendy were pleasant company for him, entertaining Leslie too so the burden didn't fall entirely on him.

Still, however surprisingly well the evening had gone Kyle always winced whenever he saw his father and Dr Meyers drain their tumblers of whiskey in one big swig out of the corner of his eye, or heard the edges of their words grow increasingly blunt. And he had been praying that every fleeting touch and flirtatious comment from Leslie would be the last.

"I'll help you with those," Wendy suddenly said, standing up and gesturing to the bowls.

"Thank you, but there's really no need," Kyle replied. "You're our guest-"

"Stop it and let me help, will you?" Wendy cut in, her words softened by her smile.

Kyle rolled his eyes at her good-naturedly, and let Wendy collect her bowl, as well as Stan's. She reached over the table to pick up Leslie's bowl, which still had a couple of chunks of potato and carrot in it.

"Are you finished, Leslie?" she asked.

Leslie looked up, batted her eyelashes vacantly.

"Oh, yes," she finally smiled, showing off her peerless teeth. "Thank you, darling."

With that she reached into her dainty bag and pulled out a cigarette and lighter, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she lit up and took a drag. Wendy raised her gaze to Kyle and shot him an incredulous look that immediately made laughter rise in his throat. He pursed his lips, and Wendy followed him to the sink.

"This was quite the novelty, having a host cook dinner," Leslie remarked once Kyle and Wendy had returned to the table. "And a man, too!" She shoved Kyle, but her fingers were limp. "You're a man of many talents!"

"Thank you, Leslie," he smiled.

"Where's your mother tonight, Leslie?" Stan asked. "If you don't mind me asking?"

Leslie shook her head, took another drag on her cigarette.

"Not at all, darling," she replied, though she avoided eye contact with Stan, as if she wished to be present in another conversation. "She has a migraine, suffers with them terribly. Besides, she's not one for this sort of thing, you know. She never has been, awful shy. Thank goodness I'm not, ever since I was old enough to wear a pretty frock and be in the company of adults I've attended every social event with my father. Isn't that right?"

She nudged her father's arm, but the limpness in her fingers seemed to disappear, for some of his whiskey leapt from the glass.

"What was that?" Doctor Meyers asked, blinking slowly and facing his daughter.

"You've taken me to every dinner party and hospital ball since I was fourteen."

"Oh yes, quite, quite…" he replied, nodding and gradually turning around.

"The sooner you associate with civilised people, the better," Leslie stated, with a smug smile on her face. "When you're young you pick up things so much easier wouldn't you agree? I've been raised with the art of etiquette, conversation. It's good practice, you know."

"For what?" Wendy asked.

Leslie blinked, the smallest dent in her brow threatened to crack her assured mask.

"Why, being a wife!" she grinned, before her eyelids lowered and seemed to cast a dark, coy shadow over her painted lips. She leaned in and rubbed Kyle's shoulder, "Any man would be lucky to have me on his arm…"

Kyle gulped, and couldn't bear to look at Stan and Wendy. He tried to shift away, in the hopes that Leslie's fingers would slip off him.

He cleared his throat before replying, "I'm sure they would. Um-"

"Kyle!" His father exclaimed. Was he actually going to reprimand him in front of their dinner guests? When he was a grown man? Kyle looked at his father with wide eyes, wondering if this could get any more mortifying. "The doctor and I appear to have run out of whiskey. Pop to the off-license and get some more, will you?"

Kyle furrowed his eyebrows and glanced out the window. The sky had already darkened to deep cobalt.

"It's rather dark to be walking…"

"Then take my car," his father replied. "Matter of fact, take Leslie with you."

At that, she whipped her head around to look at Kyle, and it was the first time he thought her to look childish.

"L-L-Leslie wouldn't want to come..."

"Of course, I would!" Leslie protested, standing up. But she was careful to keep the mirth in her voice.

"My keys are in my coat pocket. So is my wallet," his father said, gesturing to the living room where the coat rack was.

"Well then, let's be off!" Leslie said, hands on her hips.

Kyle glanced at a sympathetic Stan and Wendy, before nodding warily to his father. He stood up, and Leslie followed him into the living room.

* * *

Kyle had driven slowly along the country lane on his way into the village, with only the moon and the headlights illuminating his path. The latter were piercing, vigilant eyes searching their way through the darkness. But the steering wheel beneath Kyle's fingers almost provided a partition between him and Leslie, and for that he was most grateful. She chatted to him, and he nodded along and glanced at her occasionally, smiling when the tone of her voice demanded it.

The off-license was a small shop wedged between the newsagents and the betting office, and since it was empty Kyle didn't protest when Leslie linked her arm through his at the till. He doubted that the owner was all that interested in village gossip. They walked to the car, Leslie's dress swishing as each step was punctuated with the sharp clack of her modest heel, while Kyle held the bottle of whiskey by its neck. When they reached the car, Kyle opened the door for Leslie and she thanked him with a grin he had already seen plenty of this evening. He sighed as he shut the door behind her, walking around to the other side.

"Would you mind holding this, Leslie?" he asked when he entered the car.

"Not at all," Leslie replied, taking the bottle from Kyle and inspecting it. "What would our fathers say if we kept this to ourselves?"

"I don't think they would be best pleased."

"Me neither!" Leslie laughed. "Still, it's not an expensive bottle… let's drive the long way, shall we?"

Kyle furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at her.

"Pardon?"

"Let's drive around the lanes a little bit!" Leslie replied, eyes glinting. "I'm fed up of sitting at tables with my father! I want to sit in cars with handsome men while the countryside flies past me-"

"But they're expecting us, Leslie. We really should get back."

Leslie shook her head, her short black curls bobbing as she did. She chuckled, and it rang with a discomfiting exasperation, before she twisted in her seat so she faced Kyle.

"Oh, Kyle, come off it! Our fathers want us to take our time, don't you see?"

Kyle gulped. Of course he could see, of course he understood, and now he found himself wishing it had all remained unspoken, merely alluded to. Yes, it had felt infuriating and downright insidious before, but now it seemed that all that frustration and calculation had combusted and Kyle didn't know if he could withstand the pressure.

"N-n-no, I don't…"

Leslie rolled her eyes, but maintained that painted, eager smile that showed off her teeth.

"This whole evening was about us! It was all leading up to this moment!"

"What… what moment?" he asked. Now he _was_ confused, but he dreaded the answer to his own question. He looked away and placed his hands on the wheel. "Leslie, I think you're a little over-excited. I should really get you back-"

"But I don't want to go back!" she nearly whinged it, before her voice hardened and she demanded, "don't you dare take me back just yet!"

Kyle sighed, he wanted to run a hand through his hair but he had to remain composed.

"I'm sorry, Leslie, I have to."

He went to start the car, but Leslie lunged forward and gripped his wrists, tugging him towards her and Kyle's stomach lurched. He thought he would start shaking, but Leslie's grip was so tight, her manicured nails clung so desperately into his skin that he was withering instead.

"No!" she shouted in his face.

"What on earth has gotten into you?!"

"You! You're bloody impossible!"

"Let go of me, Leslie!"

"Not until you do something…"

"What?"

The streetlight overhead shone on her gleaming eyes, the tongue that dabbed her bottom lip. Their twinned panting filled the car, and Kyle wondered if the same source of light revealed his own reluctant gaze and taut frown.

"Kiss me," she finally whispered.

Kyle shivered at the words. They were as flimsy yet pervasive as a spirit.

"What?" he whispered in return, before raising his voice. "Why?!

"So I can begin to make sense of you!" she exclaimed. "So you can stop acting so childish and indifferent!"

"I'm being neither of those things!" Kyle cried. "For God's sake, and you call me impossible! You're unlike any women I've ever met!"

A smile spread across Leslie's face, cutting through the night like a cunning Cheshire cat, only wilder, more desperate, more frightening.

"Yes, exactly," she replied, her words glistening and threadbare. "You'll never find another woman like me, so why are you pushing me away?"

Kyle couldn't think of a response; something diplomatic and polite to not fracture this tenuous relationship, to not disappoint his father. He could barely think at all, _breathe_ even, and he was reminded of those powerful, impossible snakes that slither through far-off, nightmarish jungles, how they wrap beasts and men alike in their smothering embrace and squeeze the life out of you.

"I… I-"

Leslie didn't wait. Reaching forward her puckered lips met the corner of Kyle's mouth, and he jerked away. He was reeling with surprise, cringed at the mark her lipstick had surely left behind.

"Leslie-"

Her parted lips grazed his own and he squeezed his eyes shut. He had felt her hot breath, tasted the fading tobacco, and even though her mouth had only ghosted his he realised for the first time how sensitive his lips were. They had never been touched by another. He turned away from her again, this time so violently that his body twisted, so swiftly that a strained muscle sent a jolt of pain up his neck.

"Please, Leslie," he begged, longing to be louder but his voice was drowning. "Not here… I can't…"

"You can," Leslie insisted, but her encouragement reeked of coercion. "Yes, you can…"

Leslie kissed his chin, and Kyle was leaning so far back in an attempt to get away from her that he was in danger of falling into his seat, hitting his head on the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle saw the shining bottle of whiskey that Leslie had now placed between her legs. It was an anchor, for if she were to get any closer to Kyle she would have to move the bottle and let Kyle go. Beneath the fabric of her dress he saw her legs try to negotiate the obstacle, and heard her grumble.

"Damn bottle…" she muttered.

She inched forward a little more and tugged Kyle's hand towards her. His arm ached as he tried to resist, but soon he felt fabric and the firm swell of her best beneath his palm. Kyle gasped, froze, saw his unwilling fingers splayed helplessly, trying to recoil though Leslie was gripping his wrist tighter than ever. She arched her back, a manic display of seduction, but instead of enticing Kyle, it repelled him, horrified him, and his disgust summoned enough adrenaline for him to finally wrench away from her grip – unwittingly shoving her away in the process – and free his other hand from her clutches too.

"For God's sake, stop it!" he yelled in her face.

Seething and trembling as adrenaline and shock wracked his body with nowhere to go, a few seconds went by before the stars cleared from his vision and he saw Leslie; shaking, her dress creased, and her chest heaving, staring at him with wide, startled eyes that had never experienced defeat. His breathing became softer, but he still trembled at the sight, for it represented how he had potentially ruined everything. He had never meant to upset or hurt Leslie, he had merely wanted to get away from her. He couldn't do this, why couldn't she understand that? Why couldn't anybody understand that?

His outburst still echoed in his ears and heat rushed to his face immediately. He turned away from Leslie, he couldn't look at her. He wanted to speak, but what to say? He placed his hands on the steering wheel once more, but his fingers were shaking and the thought of starting the car was nauseating. But beneath the fear of disappointment, the embarrassment, he felt rather relieved, _proud_ even. He had stood up to Leslie, reminded himself that he was capable of more than taking orders. This venture had ended horrifically, but maybe this troubling end would burn away and forge a splendid new destiny with Kyle as the phoenix? He was unsure, for he still had another battle to fight, one he couldn't imagine winning.

Glancing at Leslie, he saw that she had composed herself, and was now fixing her hair in the wing mirror.

"We should go," Kyle murmured.

Leslie looked at him and nodded, before staring straight ahead. Kyle sighed and started the car, preparing for their short, silent journey.

* * *

As soon as Kyle parked the car a whiskey bottle was thrust to his chest. He opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by Leslie slamming the door. Watching her march up to the house, Kyle scrambled with the keys and quickly got out; hoping the cold, evening air would coax his throat to open, rouse some words.

"Leslie, wait!"

She turned around, curls fluttering in the wind and lips pouted.

"I won't make a scene, if that's what you're worried about," she said.

Kyle blinked. He could feel the tension between them deflate.

"Oh. I-"

"I won't exaggerate or over-react," she continued, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Hysterical women are very unbecoming, wouldn't you agree?"

Kyle searched the darkened countryside for answers.

"I, I suppose-"

Leslie cut through his words, making her way back over to him with a tight frown and intent in her eyes.

"But don't think I've given up," she said, her gaze was fixed on Kyle and he could hear her terse breaths. "This is not a… _defeat_ …for lack of a better phrase. I still very much want you, Kyle, and when I want something I get it, one way or another. You want this too, don't you?" her eyebrows pulled together, her voice was a softer imploration. "I'll just put this evening's mishap down to nerves and your… peculiarity. I suppose I will get used to it in time."

Kyle fidgeted under the intensity of her glare, tried to avert it because something in his eyes would reveal that this 'peculiarity' would never go away, by her hand or anybody else. She raked her gaze over Kyle and grimaced.

"What an odd man you are…"

She turned on her heel and stormed to the house, while Kyle hung his head, sighed, and followed her. They were greeted warmly upon entering the house, but despite Leslie's perseverance, the situation in the car and Kyle's blatant rejection had obviously rattled and disheartened her. Every snide remark, exaggerated yawn, and clipped response ensured that everybody in the room knew that Leslie wanted to go home. The bottle was only half empty by the time she and her father left. Clearly, what she wanted more than anything in the present moment was to be away from Kyle. Stan and Wendy left shortly after, and soon only Kyle and his father remained in the kitchen.

"Did you enjoy yourself tonight?" His father asked. Kyle heard him pour more whiskey into his tumbler.

"Yes, I did, thank you," he replied, placing another cleaned dish in the cupboard. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Very much… though Leslie seemed in an odd mood when you came back from the shop."

Kyle winced, glad he wasn't facing his father. He doubted he could look him in the eye.

"She did?" Kyle asked, unsure if his naivety was convincing.

"Yes," his father replied. "Bored, irritable, almost petulant. Of course I've only ever had brief encounters with her but I've never seen her behave like that. She's usually so talkative and polite. She was tremendous company at the start of the meal, wasn't she?"

"Yes, she was. Perhaps she was tired…"

"Perhaps," his father sighed. "But she hardly looked at you for the rest of the evening. Before you two left for the shop she couldn't keep her eyes off you - or her hands for that matter."

Kyle ducked his head, his face flushing, like he needed to be reminded.

"Yet you seemed very uninterested…"

"I'm not bothered by that sort of thing."

Kyle knew the words sounded threadbare, he winced again when he heard his father huff.

"Clearly," he said. "But it wouldn't have hurt to humour the poor girl, surely?"

"I don't want to hurt people's feelings by lying."

"You'll hurt people's feelings either way."

Kyle gritted his teeth and turned around, finally facing his father. He was wearing an implacable expression, almost waiting for Kyle to lose his temper. It made Kyle wilt.

"Then what do you suggest?" he asked, shyer now. He wanted to know why that sudden flare of temper had flickered out.

His father shrugged.

"Acquiring a taste for her?" he suggested, sighing and shaking his head. "She is a lovely girl, Kyle. It baffles me that you seem not at all keen."

Kyle had no argument, no rebuttal. He felt that oppressive heat flood his cheeks again, and lowered his gaze.

"I should be off to bed," his father added, rising from his chair slowly. "We'll talk in the morning."

Kyle nodded, and watched his father leave the kitchen.

* * *

Sleepless nights were becoming routine for Kyle now. He had finished _Villette_ last night in the hopes that it would distract him from returning to the events in the car with Leslie, or in the kitchen with his father. No matter how drowsy he was at the novel's end, every time he closed his eyes he felt the weight of his father's sigh and tasted the tobacco on Leslie's breath and jolted, eyes flying open.

He would occasionally turn his head and be greeted by that golden glow. It had become a constant, and he wondered how long it had been cemented into the view from his bedroom window and yet remained unseen by him until now. There was never a day clear enough to make out any houses in the distance, nestled between the trees. In his more fanciful moments, Kyle wondered if the light was indeed coming from Tenorman Hall; beaming like a lighthouse, but as elusive as a storm out at sea. But it was shut up, wasn't it? Were there staff still living there? Or had the disgraced lord of the manor not disappeared from this island where he was no longer welcome, but retreated into his decadent, crumbling shell?

Kyle struggled to keep his eyes open as he stirred his cup of tea, but he heard the purposeful creak of the stairs as his father strode down them.

"Good morning."

Kyle lifted his head at the sound of his father's voice entering the kitchen, and saw that he was smoothing down the suit he had worn last night.

"Good morning," Kyle replied. "You're dressed very smart today."

"I'm off to North Park to visit a client."

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you."

Kyle placed his spoon in the sink and pulled up a chair at the table. His father sat down in the chair opposite him, but kept the chair cocked to the side as if to communicate he had to leave soon.

"You know, Kyle, last night I was lying wide awake in bed, wracking my brains over the situation with you and Leslie-"

Kyle rubbed his bleary eyes.

"Must we talk about this now?"

"And I just couldn't make sense of why you were shying away from an opportunity to court a girl who's very interested in you," his father continued. "Not to mention attractive and wealthy, and then I realised something. Something that perhaps I should have realised years ago."

Kyle gulped down his tea, raised his eyes to his father and saw that he was regarding him with that same implacable look. All these years he thought he had concealed what he long knew was so different about him, but perhaps these last two days had been all too telling.

"What did you realise?" he asked.

"You don't want to get married, do you? At least not yet. And the dinner party last night, it all felt a little too staged, didn't it? Is that it?"

Kyle blinked, but relief was only a short burst of contentment. It couldn't subdue his frustration.

"Perhaps," he replied. "Although…"

"What?"

Kyle sighed.

"Sometimes I feel I may never be ready."

His father's eyebrows drew together and he let out a curt, derisive laugh.

"Then what do you propose on doing with the rest of your life?" he asked, smiling like it was all so amusing.

"Travel, work, see the world!"

"Well, you certainly have grand ambitions for someone who has so little," his father replied. Kyle was unsure if that was supposed to be a compliment. "And who will take of me when you're off gallivanting around the country? Who will take care of the animals? When you do such a good job. I don't know what I would do without you, Kyle."

Kyle pursed his lips, fidgeted as if trying to wriggle his way out of the guilt his father had elicited with one sentence Kyle knew to be sincere.

"You could come with me?"

His father huffed, and folded his arms like a spoiled child. Kyle had to supress the urge to roll his eyes.

"Surely I would be able to compromise?" he asked. "Have a career, and meet people, and go places, but still come back here at the end of the day?"

It sounded so perfect, like the solution Kyle had been searching for all these years.

"You've spent too long with your head in those books, I'm afraid," his father replied. "Anyway, I should be off. I'll be back by this evening."

Kyle took another sip of his tea to hide his pinked face, watching his father get up. Before he left the kitchen he asked;

"Do you need me to pick anything up while I'm out? Is there anything you want?"

Kyle shrugged and glanced around the kitchen, attempting to bring smaller desires to mind now that his larger aspirations had been dampened. His eyes landed on the small, sparse window sill, with only one empty vase sitting on it.

"Some flowers?" he replied. "For the vase on the window sill. It would make the room look much nicer."

"Right," his father muttered with a nod.

Kyle didn't wish his father farewell when he left the house, just listened to the slam of the front door echo. The noise seemed to rattle not just the quaint cottage's foundations but Kyle himself too. He shut his eyes to block out the din, and for the first time in years felt like wandering the well-trod country lanes, only returning if the heavens opened and perhaps not even then. He would get soaked, cold, hungry, tired, to feel anything other than trapped.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but hopefully an intriguing one. This chapter is split between Gerald and Kyle's perspective. It was really difficult trying to negotiate the POVs in this chapter, but hopefully it's not too jarring. Anyway, thank you for reading and I'd love to know what you guys think! Hope you enjoy!

Gerald hoped to be home by now. He hated driving in the dark. But of course he had to stay for tea when his client's wife offered him a place at the table. Kyle was a decent cook but their meals were limited to the small butchers and greengrocers in the village, and his son lacked the consideration that wives bring to their husbands' plates. The kitchen was no place for a young man, Gerald believed. He imagined himself and Kyle chatting at a dinner table, peering into the kitchen to see how long his future daughter-in-law would be with their dinner. The aromatic warmth of his fantasy made the isolation of the car a little less chilly.

Of course if Kyle married Leslie then she would join them at the dinner table too, and they would all smile politely as a middle-aged, well-kept maid brought their dinner to them on silver trays. And Gerald would never have to work late, come home to a cramped little cottage. He would retire, and Kyle would take on his clients. He would be able to work out of his own private office, and they would have enough space in their spacious, lavish house that Kyle would not feel embarrassed to hold meetings there. Leslie would offer cups of coffee, tea, slices of cake, and the charmed clients would be unable to say no. Gerald would greet them too, and they would remark how well retirement was treating him. He had never looked so rested, so content…

Driving along the winding country road it felt like he was heading towards such an idyllic future. Kyle may have been reluctant, but perhaps Gerald should have expected that. When his son had never even courted a girl before, of course the prospect of marriage would seem daunting. But Kyle was mature, and intelligent, and loyal, he knew the importance of putting family before himself. Especially when he had an opportunity to marry a wealthy girl like Leslie, who seemed very interested in him. No doubt she would ask him to an upcoming social event soon, and Kyle would grow fond of her in time. Gerald could wait, misfortune had been plaguing him for nearly thirty years but Leslie and Kyle's union would lift the miasma.

His daydream came to an abrupt halt when the car jerked suddenly, involuntarily slowing, just as exhausted as Gerald felt. He had bought the car years ago, although it had meant sparse meals for a month. He needed a car to expand his business, and it had never failed him except tonight.

"Bloody hell!" he snapped, smacking the wheel as if it could jolt the failing engine to attention. "Not now…"

He glanced out the window, hoping to spot anything other than early evening stars and fields cloaked in darkness. He wasn't too far from the village, maybe he could walk to one of the nearby farms? But then glowing windows in the distance caught his eye, carving a faint outline of the house into the countryside like constellations in the sky. Gerald grinned, making his steady way to the house until finally the car trundled to the side of the road, outside the looming gates.

Getting out of the car, he peered at the shabby mansion on the other side of the gates. Once fashionable, pristine, and grand, it appeared uninhabitable although the lights suggested somebody was still living there, neglecting to tend to the garden and paint the walls. He walked up to the gate, wrapped his fingers around the cold metal to take a closer look, and stumbled when it nudged open. He winced at the long groan of rusted iron, but stepped inside the property nonetheless.

Pebbles crunched underfoot as he made his way up the drive, and the lawn that would have once been trimmed and upright was now overgrown and sagging with apathy. The flowers too were brash and bulbous, the light from the windows revealed slithers of their rich, unadulterated colours. They crowded the house like prepossessing invaders, wildly beautiful.

Gerald felt as if he were in a trance when he reached the door, and balked at the door knocker. A ferocious bear head with tarnished eyes and chipped teeth, it had faded into antiquity, history, like the animal itself and the privileged few who had once hunted it. Gerald knocked on the door, the heavy thud ringing into the night. He waited for the shuffle of a housekeeper, a maid, from inside but was met only with silence. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a bush that sported enormous roses, protruding like they were craning their gorgeous heads to greet him, their scarlet shade burned through the cold evening.

The flowers were almost hypnotic. Gerald had to shake his head to free himself from their distraction. He knocked again, more impatiently this time.

"Hello!" he called out. "Hello? Is anybody there?"

Silence. Gerald sighed, his gaze wandering once again to the alluring roses. Didn't Kyle say he wanted flowers? These would be perfect! The roses seemed even larger up close however, and Gerald was unsure if they would fit into the vase. But even one of these roses would be more magnificent than a whole bouquet of any other flowers. He picked one, careful not to touch the thorns as he did. The bush shook, seemed to bristle with one of its flowers missing, and Gerald swore he could hear a long, thrumming growl behind him.

He didn't have time to wonder before he felt a strong hand tugging at his shoulder and nails, no – _claws -_ tearing into his coat. He gasped, his body rigid, and the rose fell to the ground. He gulped, and somehow found it in himself to crane his neck, to gaze at the monster looming over him. Just the sight of the beast rendered him frozen. Grabbing him by the front of his coat, the beast lifted him off the ground. His throat closed, he was even unable to scream. But it would have been drowned out by the beast's tremendous roar. The ringing in his ears left Gerald feeling delirious, and the appearance of this monster rendered him paralysed with fear.

Just like the door knocker, the beast resembled a bear. But it was massive, larger than a bear, more malevolent, more manic. Its wide nostrils flared and when it seethed it exhumed pure aggression. Its eyes were an aureate kaleidoscope, multiplying Gerald's startled reflection dozens of times over. But he would rather look into the beast's shining eyes than its blood-red gums and fangs as huge as daggers. The thick rolls of chestnut fur made his neck appear wider than it already was, and even with all its savage strength the beast seemed to struggle supporting the weight of its broad shoulders and back. It adopted the stance of a bull ready to charge at a matador's red cloth, or perhaps at an intruder stealing a bunch of red roses. A bear, a beast, what else could this unnatural creature resemble?

"What are you doing here?!" the beast demanded.

A man. Gerald found himself shaking at the beast's growling, tortured voice. He only then realised that the beast was in fact dressed in clothes. Its trousers and shirt strained against its hulking form, some of the seams had already opened.

"M-m-my car…my car… it broke down!" Gerald replied. He could hardly think, let alone speak. "I n-n-needed help!"

"You were trespassing! I ought to kill you!"

"No, please! Please forgive me!" Gerald begged. "D-d-don't kill me! I-I-I have a family! A son, waiting for me! And a business! A-a-and-"

"Enough!" the beast roared. "Why should I care?! That gives you no right to… to…" the beast's eyes flickered, and Gerald felt himself slip in the creature's loosening grip. "Did you say… you have a son?"

"Yes!" Gerald replied, nodding frantically. "Yes, a grown son! He's all I have in the world!"

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-eight. He's a fine young man." The mention of Kyle prompted a lump in Gerald's throat. "Please let me go so I can go back to him! I-I-I'll do anything!"

But the beast was no longer looking at Gerald. Its eyes flitted as heavily as a pendulum, and its breathing had slowed, calmed. Gerald furrowed his eyebrows, confusion overrode his fear the longer he studied the conflicted expression on the beast's face.

Finally, the best regarded him again with a scowl, and Gerald gulped.

"Would you really do anything?" the beast asked.

"Yes!"

"I need a servant, and you're too old and useless for the job," the beast explained with a snarl. "I will spare you if you bring your son to me, so he can work and live here unharmed."

Gerald opened his mouth to respond, but he had no idea what to say. How could he trust this horrifying monster with his only son? But what was the alternative? To be eaten alive by this beast and to leave Kyle a penniless orphan? Kyle wanted to find purpose, independence, to experience something beyond their quiet village, was this such an opportunity? Maybe this was a chance Kyle needed to take to get his desire for independence out of his system? So he could finally commit to marriage? The beast did say no harm would come to Kyle. But why should Gerald take its word? What if it was a trick? What was this beast even capable of?

"I… I…"

"Make up your mind!" the beast roared. "Time is running out!"

"All right!" Gerald cried, trembling. "All right…"

The beast dropped him, and he huffed when he fell to the ground, cowering in front of the beast that now seemed even more enormous.

"B-b-but you won't hurt him, will you?" Gerald whimpered. "You promised you wouldn't."

"You have my word," the beast replied, solemn. "I will not hurt him. Be here tomorrow at dusk. If you do not come, I will hunt you down and devour you both! Now get out!"

Gerald scrambled to his feet, his petrified adrenaline compelling him to sprint down the drive without looking back, rose forgotten. The lights of his broken down car flickered on, and he ran even faster when it occurred to him that somebody might have been stealing it. After all he had experienced tonight, in this Godforsaken house, he wouldn't be surprised if some roadside criminals had decided to take off with his car.

He pushed the gates open and nearly fell out of the property. Stumbling to the car, he saw that it was only him panting and reeling on the side of the road. He shut himself away in the car, locking the mansion and the memory of this evening out. He was still slumped in his seat, collecting his breaths when he heard the car hum to life. Gripping the wheel he drove as fast as he could, shaking all the way home.

* * *

Kyle looked up once again from his book to inspect the clock, ticking like an impatient foot taps the floor. Half past eight and his father still wasn't home. A tooth snagged his lower lip, his thumb brushed against the corner of the page. He had been reading _Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde_ all day in between his chores, and had in fact almost finished it. But perhaps reading about a man who transformed into a violent creature and terrorised innocent people wasn't such a wise idea when his father was incredibly late and the night was growing darker.

Closing the book, Kyle tried to relax in his usually trusty armchair by the crackling fire, thoughts of distraction disintegrating in the amber flames. He wished he had said goodbye to his father before he left, the absence of a farewell seemed so needless now, so spiteful. Kyle closed his eyes, exhaled slowly as if the weighty sigh could smother the guilt welling up in his chest.

A loud bang made Kyle jolt, and when his eyes flew open he saw his father standing by the door. His breathing was laboured, and he was shaking. But he was drained of colour as well as energy, his face a pale, petrified pallor. It was his torn coat that sent Kyle out of the chair, rushing over to his father to investigate.

"Dear God, what happened to you?!" he asked. "Are you all right?"

His father had one hand placed on the door, and Kyle watched his shoulders heave as he tried to collect his breaths.

"Yes…" his father replied absently, nodding as if to convince even himself. "Yes, I'm fine…"

Kyle winced at his father's lie. Much like himself, Kyle's father was stubborn and Kyle was unsure how to best approach the situation. Tentatively, he reached forward and slung his father's arm around his shoulders. Kyle couldn't envision his shaken father walking independently without crumbling on the floor.

"Your coat-"

"Never mind that," his father cut in, waving him off. "I'm sorry I'm so late."

"There's no need to apologise." Kyle shook his head and frowned. "Are you sure you're all right?"

His father sighed. Kyle could feel him deflate beneath him.

"No… no, I feel rather light-headed. I should go to bed."

"What about supper?"

"Just make something for yourself. I need to lie down."

Kyle pursed his lips, before nodding in acquiescence.

"All right," he said. "Let me help you upstairs."

His father nodded too, and when they made their way upstairs the steps creaked louder than ever under the weight of two bodies.

"I love you very much, Kyle," his father confessed when they reached the top step, Kyle could've withered under his agonised stare. "You know that don't you?"

"Yes," Kyle murmured, nodding before saying louder, "yes, of course I do…"

"I would never want you to come to any harm."

Kyle's eyebrows furrowed, and he wondered why his father felt the need to say such things, sentiments and truths that had been only implied for twenty eight years. And why now? Why tonight? What was his father not telling him?

But he didn't ask, instead he found himself replying; "I know you wouldn't."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys! I've been super busy lately, but hopefully updates should be a bit more frequent from now on. Thank you so much for reading, as well as for being patient, and I hope you enjoy!

Kyle's eyelids drooped as he spread some marmalade onto a slice of toast, as if the weight of all these sleepless nights were becoming too much for his poor eyes to bear. His father and his odd demeanour upon returning home was what kept him up last night, the ripped coat his father was adamant to ignore was a symbol for Kyle's fears. Was he attacked? But by what? Kyle shivered at the thought of some savage creature of the night pouncing on his father… perhaps in front of the car, on the middle of the road. Perhaps the monster had appeared genial at first, almost human and posing as a person in need before transforming – no, he was being silly. He had been reading too much.

"Good morning…"

Kyle lifted his head at the sound of his father's voice. He was still in his pyjamas and dressing gown, and Kyle couldn't remember the last time he had seen his father in his night clothes. He was always dressed when he came downstairs for breakfast, and had raised Kyle to do the same.

"Good morning," Kyle replied softly, trying to hide his concern. "How are you feeling today?"

"Tired," his father sighed, and rubbed his eyes. "I hardly slept at all last night."

"When you arrived home yesterday you seemed rather… distressed."

His father lifted his gaze to him and Kyle fidgeted under his stare, but he had to say something.

"I don't like driving in the dark, you know," he replied. "It puts me on edge."

"But that doesn't explain the ripped coat."

"Oh, that, it… it's a very old coat, Kyle." His father shook his head and waved the issue off. "Please don't concern yourself with it, I'm fine."

Kyle nodded, the crunch of the toast filling the silence.

"I don't think driving all day helped," his father continued. "It's not appropriate now, not at my age."

"Perhaps, but… I still feel like there's something that you're not telling me."

"What could that be?"

Kyle couldn't possibly relay his outlandish suspicions to his father without getting laughed off, but no other explanations came to mind.

"I don't know, I…" Kyle pursed his lips, tried to think. "Did something happen when you went to visit your client, perhaps?"

"What on earth are you talking about, Kyle?"

"Did you fall out over something? Maybe you gave him bad news and he didn't take it well or, or, or maybe he gave you bad news…" Kyle stopped, his eyes widened. "Is he letting you go? Is that it?"

His father shook his head, and avoided eye contact.

"No, no…"

"Are you sure you're telling me everything?"

His father opened his mouth to speak but quickly clamped it shut, like the words were in need of some refinement before they could actually be spoken. Kyle watched his father think, watched his eyes study the grooves of the table, and willed for his father to talk to him. Perhaps it was the light streaming through the window that made his father's eyes appear to gleam, but he shifted in his chair before lifting his gaze to Kyle.

"Actually, Kyle, there is something I forgot to mention yesterday. After all, I was all out of sorts."

"What is it?"

"An opportunity has arisen, it might seem… for you."

Kyle blinked, surprised he was at the centre of all this mystery.

"You've made it very clear to me that you would like to experience a life out of South Park, to learn new things and meet new people." His father paused, raised his eyebrows. "That is what you want, isn't it?"

"Yes," Kyle whispered, before coughing into his fist and saying louder, "yes, more than anything."

"Well, I was, uh, discussing this with my client yesterday and he told me is in need of a… assistant."

"What does he do?" Kyle asked.

"He's, uh, an accountant," his father replied. "He's rather wealthy, and he lives in a large house, a lavish house, in fact. He would be more than happy to take you on as a sort of apprentice, and you can live there until your training is complete."

Kyle felt a smile spread across his face, like wings outstretching and preparing to take flight.

"Really?" he could hear the giddiness in his voice.

"Yes, really," his father nodded, with his own smile. It was small however, and didn't reach his eyes. "He seemed… h-h-he seemed quite enthusiastic. "

Kyle was reeling, his shoulders slouching like all his problems had melted away.

"So is it something you think you may be interested in?" his father asked. "You don't have long to make up your mind."

"Oh yes, yes it is!" Kyle nodded, leaning forward in his chair and grinning. "Thank you so much, I would love to!"

The corners of his father's mouth piqued only briefly, as if this wonderful opportunity was lukewarm and distant. Kyle noticed his eyes glimmering, and hoped a more overwhelming emotion was shining through.

"Brilliant, well you better start packing your things," his father said. "He's expecting us by early evening."

"Certainly," Kyle replied, rising from his chair. "I'll get started right away!"

He clapped his father's shoulder as he left the kitchen and as he jogged up the stairs he mentally started to pack, as well as forming an image of this generous, mysterious businessman who he was soon to stay with.

* * *

The waning sun was melting into evening clouds when Kyle and his father left the house. Affection embraced his heart and squeezed it a little too tightly when Kyle took one last look at his home. He knew he wouldn't be gone forever, he'd return eventually even if only briefly. But he wasn't just leaving that faithful house, he was leaving that frustrated, naive self behind too.

Kyle was now staring out of the window as they drove down the country roads, one view disappearing and being swiftly replaced by another.

"How long will I be staying with this client of yours?" Kyle asked, turning to his father who kept his eyes straight ahead.

"As long as it takes to train you, I suppose," he replied.

"I still have my library book with me…" Kyle had nearly forgotten he had packed it in his case in excitement. "Should we turn around and return it?"

"No!" his father snapped. Kyle blinked, and noticed his fingers flexing on the wheel. "No, we're late enough as it is. Give it to me and then I'll take it to the library when I return home."

Kyle nodded, gaze drifting out the window.

"What's his name?" he asked.

He glanced at his father again, and noticed that although he was looking at the road, a thoughtful fog clouded his eyes.

"Pardon?"

"I asked what his name is. Your client."

"Oh… oh, well, Kyle, you really should be leaving these questions until we arrive. He'll make all of the introductions."

"Surely it wouldn't hurt to know his-"

"Kyle, please be quiet will you?!" his father cut in. "I'm trying to concentrate!"

Kyle shrunk back in his seat, stung.

"Of course," he murmured. "I, I'm sorry…"

Kyle returned his gaze to the window, but the views weren't as bright and welcoming, and he started to feel nauseated by the relentless motion. He tried not to glance at his father, not wishing to agitate him further. Perhaps he was anxious that Kyle would let him down? Or was he merely upset at his leaving? The car slowed as they pulled up to an old manor house with greying walls and the garden grown wild with neglect, and Kyle's breath caught in his throat. He knew. It had to be Tenorman Hall. That golden constant star had now blossomed into fading beauty.

It was so much bigger than Kyle could have ever imagined. How could he not have noticed it from his small house on top of the hill? The looming gates opened with an almost menacing creak, and the car inched itself up the drive like it knew it wasn't welcome.

"What are we doing here?" Kyle asked, turning to his father now. Nothing was more intimidating than the grounds of this fallen house.

"This is where my client lives," his father replied, still avoiding eye contact.

"I thought he lived in North Park?"

"Well, this is on the way to North Park, isn't it?" his father responded rather tersely.

"I, I suppose." Kyle nodded, not wanting to upset him before his departure.

Instead, he pondered how wealthy his father's client must be if he could afford Tenorman Hall. Although in this condition it may have been relatively cheap. Whoever purchased it clearly didn't have the remaining funds to renovate it. His father parked the car by the front steps, and they both got out wordlessly before heading to the boot and collecting Kyle's belongings.

"This is everything, is it?" his father asked when Kyle's two suitcases were placed on the ground.

"Yes, that's the lot." Kyle smiled, the breeze lifting his mood somewhat.

His father pursed his lips, and Kyle tried to search his glassy eyes before he was pulled into a tight hug.

"Goodbye, Kyle," his father murmured.

"Won't you come inside?" Kyle asked. The arms that braced him were stiff and sturdy.

"No, no, you're a grown man now," his father replied, releasing him and waving the suggestion off. "You can make all the necessary introductions for yourself, can't you?"

Kyle nodded, unconvinced.

"My book-"

"Keep it," his father interjected. "Have you finished it yet?"

"Well no, but I-"

"I'm sure the librarian will understand. They won't notice one book missing, will they?"

Kyle shook his head. His father always seemed to have an answer for everything, but lately his reassurances had left Kyle feeling empty and worried.

"Make the most of this, will you?" his father asked, imploration straining the question.

"Of course," Kyle replied. It was an automatic response, but he added earnestly; "of course I will, I won't let you down."

"I know you won't."

Kyle was pulled into his father's embrace again, although it didn't rouse the same comfort and security he had felt as a child; when his father was so much taller, and that unaffected, stoic mask remained taut. He was shaking in Kyle's arms, and he wondered whether leaving him was the right thing to do. Had he been selfish? Silly? He may have been idealistic, but that didn't stop Kyle from fantasizing about making his dreams reality, but were they really just impossible?

Before Kyle could say anything, his father held him at arm's length and smiled tightly at him. Kyle returned the smile, and watched his father get back in the car and trundle along the drive, waving all the while. Curiously, the gates closed behind the car and Kyle was alone, his new life waiting behind him, silent and patient.

He turned around and stared up at Tenorman Hall. The intricate patterns on the stained-glass windows made the glass appear fragile, and the house itself was like a helpless fly trapped on the dominating flora's web. Kyle wanted to reach out, untangle the house, clutch it, and discover once and for all if this was his destiny. If this was a star worth following. He supposed the only way he would find out was if he knocked the door.

Rolling his shoulders back and picking up his suitcases, Kyle marched to the door. He wondered if his chin had raised subconsciously, hoping that an authoritative confidence would bloom inside him and make his whole body stand to attention like a soldier. He stepped onto the porch and furrowed his eyebrows at the knocker. A foreboding bear, daring him to enter. Kyle grabbed the bear's face and knocked as hard as he could. Soon after the door inched open with a creak. Kyle assumed it was the work of a swift, perhaps timid housekeeper. But there was no greeting, no shadow he could make out in the darkness.

Had there been a mistake? Were they really expecting him today? Perhaps his father had the dates muddled? But Kyle couldn't go back now. He couldn't sprint out of the grounds and try to catch up with his father's car (how cowardly, how childish). No, he had to step inside, apologise for arriving early. Perhaps his early arrival would suggest enthusiasm? Nodding to himself, Kyle pushed the door open a tad further and stepped inside.

Kyle looked around, though there was hardly anything to see in the dark. And no people, for that matter too. Pale columns of light shone through a large, dome window and cradled the dust in the air. The light illuminated the worn out, matted carpet too, and more dust was clumped into the once rich gold and red fabric. But it didn't find any shadows. Kyle's presence didn't prompt a greeting or a member of the household to come out of hiding.

"Hello?" he asked, trying to be measured but the echo revealed his unease.

"Who are you?" a disembodied voice replied. Deep and thrumming, making Kyle shiver.

"Kyle Broflovski?" he stepped forward, fingers fidgeting behind his back. "My father Gerald said you were in need of an assistant."

Kyle glanced around the room, searching for his reclusive host but no features could be distinguished in the infuriating shadows.

"Who am I talking to?" Kyle finally asked. "Where are you?"

No answer, but Kyle strained his ears and waited. Then, footsteps. Not the assured thump of Oxfords against the floorboards, nor the warm sound of plush slippers shuffling closer, but padding. Gentle, surreptitious, like fingernails tapping a desk. The sound was creeping towards the strongest light source, from the centre of that magnificent, high window. It was silvery, the dust sparkling. A paw, huge with sharp, yellowing claws protruding out of it met the light. Kyle gasped, choked on all the mysteries that cluttered the air, took a step backward. Another paw, just as frightening as its twin, then bulging shoulders, rolls and rolls of fur. A stony face with squinting golden eyes that soon adjusted to the light. A bear, Kyle had already faced one. But not a real one, not like this one, except… it wore clothes, pulled tight across its broad shoulders, straining against thick legs, and when it straightened up it was taller than any bear Kyle had ever seen photographs of, illustrations of, and its eyes were intelligent, aware, but not human. They were savage, and striking, and… _beastly_.

Kyle wanted to shriek as shock was peeled away by reality. A monster was standing in front of him, no doubt ready to devour him. He ran to the door, hurriedly collecting his belongings after he had nearly tripped over them. He could hardly see the door in the darkness but he would find it eventually. He huffed when the side of his face hit the sturdy wood, but he didn't care when he could hear the lock judder from within, the mechanism so large that the noise reverberated through his whole body. He felt around for the doorknob before he finally found it and clutched it tight. He tried to twist it open but it wouldn't budge. Shaking and panting, he twisted the knob the other way but still it was useless. His skin burned with sweat and he cried through gritted teeth as he pulled and shook at the stubborn doorknob, the lock jammed. But how did this happen? How could it have happened? Kyle finally released it with a cry.

"What?!" he yelled. "What's going on here?!"

"There's no use trying to leave," the beast replied. It occurred to Kyle then that the monster hadn't chased him, or tried to stop him. "Your father promised you would stay."

Kyle hated the sound of his heaving breaths filling the silence, but at least it drowned out the devastating ebb and flow of all the aches in his chest.

"I… this can't be possible…" he whispered.

"You must be gentle, don't frighten the poor lad!" A new hushed voice spoke, an Irish accent. "Tell him you won't hurt him!"

Kyle's eyes widened at the new voice in the shadows. Was this house haunted? Cursed? Condemned? Or was Kyle simply going mad? He hoped it was all a feverish nightmare, and that he would wake up soon, in his old bed in his old cottage he would never take for granted. He flinched when he heard the beast coming towards him, his shadow enveloped Kyle like a cloak and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing for it to disappear. If Kyle kept his eyes closed, and his back to it, the beast would go away.

"I mean you no harm," the beast said.

Kyle froze at the feeling of claws brushing against his shoulder, and shrugged them away.

"I just need some assistance around the house," the beast continued calmly. "I don't want to hurt you."

Kyle blinked at the beast's admission, sniffled, and turned around. The beast was just an enormous blur in his eyes, silent and waiting for a response.

"How long do I have to stay here?" Kyle asked.

"Until I say you can go."

Kyle wiped his tears, although the beast's answer shattered him.

"So I'm a prisoner?"

With his vision clear he could see the beast seethe, its jaw tighten.

"I'll throw you in the cellar if you want to be a prisoner!" it roared.

"Master, please!" the decidedly friendlier voice spoke up.

Kyle detected the voice coming from the beast's jacket pocket, and stumbled backwards when he saw it belonged to a hammer, with a smiling, flat face.

"What on Earth is going on in this house?!" he demanded.

"That is none of your concern!" the beast snapped, its temper flaring before it sighed. "I'll show you to your room."

The beast began to walk away and Kyle scurried after it. He knew that it was best to follow orders for now. He would find a way out eventually but being agreeable for the time being was a sure way not to get eaten. When they made their way up the wide staircase, Kyle had a better view of the large window and smiled despite himself at the craggy clouds and the softer, twilight hues. Perhaps it was the last time he'd ever see the sky? No, he couldn't think like that.

In the silence, his eyes eventually wandered to the walls, where slithers of artwork and ornaments were graced by the light. It was no wonder Tenorman Hall had fallen to such disrepair if a beast was simply using it as its den. It weighed heavily on Kyle's heart, thinking what this house and family had been reduced to.

"This is where you will stay," the beast said as he opened Kyle's bedroom door, not too far from the stairs.

Kyle reluctantly stepped inside the largest bedroom he had ever been in, although he doubted even a four poster bed and mountains of pillows would help him sleep tonight.

"You will join me for dinner in an hour," the beat added. "Do not be late!"

The door was slammed shut behind Kyle, and the condemning sound was followed by his luggage hitting the floor. He didn't care if the suitcases were damaged, if they flew open. He covered his face with his hands, and cried softly into his palms.

* * *

The floorboards creaked as Kyle paced the bedroom, and he glanced at every window. Important features had been memorised in the hopes they would all link together and form an escape plan in his mind. He didn't let himself cry for too long, pressing his wrist firmly to his still welling eyes so he could survey the room; either the tall, greying set of chest of drawers, or the gilt chaise lounge, would be useful to wedge under the doorknob so his escape could be carried out undisturbed. Then again, the bathroom with its gleaming marble and triptych mirror had a working lock. But would he be able to squeeze through the high, narrow window above the – disturbing – claw foot bathtub. Kyle had tensed upon seeing it. He wouldn't be surprised if all the furniture was sentient. He had to be careful not to mutter his plans to himself.

He groaned and ran despairing hands through his hair. How had he ended up here? Why did his father send him here of all places? What could possibly have possessed him to agree to this? Didn't he realise he was putting Kyle's life in danger? A door flew open in Kyle's mind. A realisation. His father standing there, with his ripped coat, it had to be the work of the beast! Had it threatened him? Kyle remembered his father's shoulders shaking beneath the coat, and the glow from the fireplace casting light on his pale face. Kyle could feel the warmth like a phantom passing through him, recall the comfort of the armchair, and suddenly thoughts of escape plans and theories evaporated, replaced by thoughts of home. Kyle's pace slowed, gasping thickly on the lump in his throat. He sat on the bed, the mattress soft and full beneath him, and closed his stinging eyes, letting his tears fall.

"Oh, please don't cry, love! It will be all right!"

"Damn it, who's talking now?!" Kyle asked, lifting his head at the sound of another disembodied voice. This time, female.

"Over here!" she replied. "The wardrobe!"

Kyle turned to the cranberry coloured wardrobe, eyes widening at the golden trim that had shaped itself into almost feline eyes, long lashes, and a wide, mischievous smile.

"How-"

"My name's Rebecca. But everyone calls me Bebe."

"Oh…" Kyle nodded, sitting up straighter. "All right… it's, um, nice to meet you, Bebe."

"You too, love," Bebe replied warmly. "Mind telling me your name?"

Kyle shook his head, reprimanding himself for neglecting proper manners. Although he supposed it was easy to forget one's manners when conversing with a wardrobe.

"Oh, sorry, yes, my name is Kyle."

"I know this must seem awfully strange, Kyle. It's been a long time since this house has had any guests, but it is still a lovely place to stay. You'll settle in eventually."

"Thank you, but right now that doesn't seem very likely," Kyle sighed. "I have never felt so confused, so lonely."

"Lonely? But you have me for company! And if you have any questions, I'll try my best to answer them."

"All right… does all the furniture talk?"

"No, no," Bebe replied, twisting like she was trying to shake her head. She added quietly, "only the ones who had past lives."

"Past lives?" Kyle asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Yes!" Bebe smiled again brightly. "I used to press Miss Cartman's clothes. I was always her favourite, and she had the most beautiful dresses I had ever seen!"

"What happened to her?"

"She passed away a long time ago."

"Did her death have anything to do with the beast? Did he…" Kyle paused, not sure he wanted to know the answer. "Eat her?"

"No, no, she was dead long before the-"

Bebe was interrupted by a thud at the door. Kyle clutched the sheets beneath him.

"Bebe!" A cheerful voice called from the hallway. "Can we come in?"

"Who is that?" Kyle asked.

"Pip, and the kitchen crowd," Bebe replied. "Would you mind getting the door?"

Kyle shook his head, opening the door and stepping aside when a kitchen cart with assorted gawping dishware and cutlery wheeled itself into the room. There was a turquoise butter dish, with an apple orchard scene and a shy face; a coy, silver spoon with floral engravings; and a white china teacup with a golden rim, and a painted ribbon underneath his beaming face. Kyle couldn't help but grin at them all.

"Everybody this is Kyle, he's our guest!" Bebe announced.

"It's very nice to meet you all," Kyle replied, nodding at each one.

"Hello, Kyle!" the teacup spoke first. "I'm Phillip, but everyone calls me Pip because-"

"Of Charles Dickens?" Kyle guessed.

"Pardon?"

"Pip is the main character in _Great Expectations_ ," Kyle explained.

"Really?" Pip asked. "I've never read it. Is it a good book?"

"A brilliant book." Kyle smiled. "One of my favourites."

Pip's china seemed to gleam a little brighter, and he beamed at his friends, before continuing his introductions.

"And this is Kelly-"

Kelly lowered her silvery eyes and giggled at the mention of her name.

"And this is Butters- I mean, Leopold."

"Hello, Kyle!" Butters said, glancing up at him. "Dinner will be ready shortly."

"Thank you, but I won't be attending," Kyle replied. "I'm not hungry."

"B-b-but the master is expecting you."

"The master?" Kyle asked. "You mean that beast?"

Kyle furrowed his eyebrows as his newfound friends all glanced at each other uneasily.

"Yes, I suppose," Bebe replied.

Kyle sighed. "I pity you, having to live with something that horrifying… though I suppose he is now my master too…"

"Of course not!" Bebe exclaimed. "You're our guest!"

"A guest?" Kyle was even more confused. "I was told I was to work here. Your master even said so."

He wished they would all stop looking at each other so warily, it didn't exactly convince him that this crumbling house was a nice – let alone safe – place to stay.

"The master is a complex fellow," Pip finally said.

"Yes, I'm sure all will be explained shortly," Butters added.

"And he's not as terrible and cruel as he appears," Bebe chimed in. "You'll see…"

"But I don't want to see! I just want to understand, I..." Kyle sat on the bed once more, stared at his hands wringing themselves in his lap. "I need to know why my father would leave me with such a monster."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had some bad writer's block recently, so I'm still not 100% happy with this chapter. But god, I've edited it so much that I have to post it. Still, I hope you guys enjoy and thank you for reading!

"… _I need to know why my father would leave me with such a monster."_

Eric roared, throwing his mother's mirror on the bed. The image of his distressed guest faded from the glass as soon as the mirror hit the mattress.

"This is hopeless!" Eric exclaimed, as he paced the room on all fours. It was quickly becoming a more comfortable position for him to walk in. He hated it, for it signalled a more insidious transformation. "I should never have let him in the house! I should have thrown his father out of the gates the second I saw him!"

Gregory, Christophe, and Kenny had all been watching from his bedside table, no doubt warily.

Gregory, as always, spoke first: "Don't be too disheartened, master-"

"Did you hear him?!" Eric cried, growling softly. "Did you hear what he called me?!"

"Y-y-yes, but-"

"You have to give it some time, sir. Give  _him_ some time," Kenny cut in gently. "He could be the one to break the curse!"

"I know that! Why did you think I wanted him here? As if I need more servants…"

"Do you think you could fall in love with him?" Christophe asked.

Silence followed. Christophe had a habit of ignoring the hesitancies in the room, tunnelling through the obscure and the grimy to find the truth, bright as day.

"Perhaps," Eric replied, his breathing had slowed and his shoulders had loosened. "He is certainly…" glancing at the blank mirror, he recalled red hair as vibrant as any of the overgrown flowers, and sharp, intelligent eyes that had been clouded by tears. "Handsome…"

"Forgive my bluntness, monsieur, but you need to change his impression of you as soon as possible," Christophe pointed out. "The rose wilts more and more every day."

Another stinging truth slicing through the tension, another malignant weed unearthed. Eric glowered and began to pace again.

"For God's sake, Christophe!" Gregory snapped.

"What?"

"We all know the rose is wilting!"

"So you would agree we can't waste time, no?"

"Yes, but we cannot dwell or fret! We must do-"

" _We_ can't do anything! It is entirely in the hands of the master and our guest."

"Yes…" Eric sighed, eyes slipping shut as if the importance of Kyle's presence was weighing down on his lids. "Yes, he's right. I must get ready for dinner…"

* * *

The tick of the clock above the mantelpiece had never sounded louder in Eric's large, lonely dining room. For the past ten years he hadn't noticed it. After all, it chimed for no one. But when Eric had a guest upstairs, a guest who could potentially free him from this prison of his own making if he gave him companionship, trust,  _time_ , and when his dinner at the other end of the table remained untouched, then Eric couldn't help but let the tick echo in his despondent mind.

Growling to himself, he licked the gravy away from his lips, not waiting for Kyle to arrive before he started eating. He would have to become more patient around Kyle, remember his table manners when they were eating together. Although it seemed Kyle preferred to stay in his room like a petulant ingrate.

The legs of Eric's chair screeched against the floorboards when he rose. Why should he be polite and weak-willed when Kyle was stubborn and spoiled? If Kyle wanted to behave like that then he had no problem storming up to his room and dragging him to dinner. But Eric stopped seething when he heard the sound of quick, purposeful footsteps down the stairs, and then marching across the hall.

Suddenly, the steady noise stopped, and when Eric turned his head he saw Kyle waiting by the door. His back and shoulders were firm and straight, a faultlessly confident pose if not for Kyle's wobbling, impassive mouth and wide, curious eyes. Still, despite their nervous gleam Eric still found himself withering, wanting to sit down but he was frozen, ensnared by those suffocating green irises.

Eric needed to exhale, he felt as if he were holding his breath. Instead, he coughed and tried his best to smooth down his clothes with his paws.

"Good evening…" he mumbled.

Kyle lowered his gaze, and kept his eyes to the floor as he marched to the other end of the table.

"You're late," Eric added, his voice rang through the room.

"Well, I didn't plan on attending but I'm rather hungry," Kyle replied as he took his seat, still avoiding Eric's stare.

"Your dinner has most likely gone cold."

Kyle sighed, and Eric watched him study the cooling plate of roast beef and vegetables in front of him. Kyle placed the napkin on his lap, before picking up his knife and fork and beginning to eat.

Eric sat back down, reaching for his half-empty glass of wine. When he ate dinner alone he would simply lower his head and lap at his beverage, succumbing to his increasingly animalistic nature was less humiliating when nobody was watching him. But when he was sure Kyle wasn't looking he raised the glass to his lips and dipped his tongue in.

"So what exactly does my job entail?" Kyle asked.

When Eric glanced across the table, Kyle had stopped eating, waiting for an answer.

Eric shrugged. "Keeping me company…"

"Is that all?"

"Yes?"

Kyle furrowed his eyebrows, before scoffing and shaking his head.

"What's the matter?" Eric asked, despite his best efforts to remain calm he still held the glass of wine a little tighter.

"That's not a real job!" Kyle replied. "It certainly isn't what you told my father-"

"Then what did he tell you?"

"That I were to be an apprentice of some sort, an assistant-"

"Yes, and that's what you'll be doing," Eric cut in, before Kyle could ask any more uncomfortable questions.

"Assisting you in what?!" Kyle exclaimed, eyes roaming the room like he knew it was just a damned vessel. "This whole arrangement doesn't make any sense! What do you have to hide?"

Eric smacked his paws on the table, making the cutlery shake and the wine spill. He rose once more and Kyle's eyes followed him. Eric wanted to roar to see if it could make Kyle's stern, defiant expression waver.

"I have nothing to hide! If I knew you would be so ungrateful I would never have considered letting you in my house!"

Kyle rose from his chair too, scowling.

"And if I knew I would be working for such a beast I would never have come at all!" he replied, storming out of the room before Eric could retort.

Helpless and seething, Eric didn't wait until he heard the slam of Kyle's bedroom door to roar and throw the plates off the table.

* * *

Kyle had grumbled and pulled the covers over his head when the startling sun shone through thin curtains. Despite his terrible night's sleep, he had fought to keep his eyes open, too scared to close them in case the beast decided to suspend his hospitality. He was volatile enough, Kyle knew that much. He had flinched and hurried up the stairs when he heard the beast's tremendous roar, and china being smashed. When Kyle had finally made it to his room he slumped to the carpet. It were as if that frightening day had wounded him, and dizzied by confusion, anger, fear, the adrenaline were pouring out of him like blood, leaving him drained.

But Bebe had consoled him enough for Kyle to pull himself from the floor and get ready for bed. He considered finishing  _Jekyll and Hyde_  but then thought against it, especially when he could hear the beast prowling the grounds. His loud, thrumming growl gave him away, even from two storeys below.

Again, it was Bebe's warm greeting upon his waking, and her unwavering reassurance that finally got Kyle out of bed. They had chatted as Kyle got dressed, and he could hardly believe that he had found it in himself to laugh and smile in his current situation. He tried to imagine Bebe as a young woman, making her beloved mistress chuckle, inquiring about another fabulous new dress she pad purchased, and holding it up to a secret mirror when she was on her own, letting herself fantasise. Kyle had frowned to himself when he wished that girl could have been his friend too.

He had also frowned when Bebe finally ushered him out the door, encouraging him to get some breakfast. The silence Kyle was met with on the other side of the door was goading, and he couldn't help but ponder how bears caught their prey. They weren't like tigers, surely? Stalking the clueless herbivores through the thick, concealing undergrowth? Kyle swallowed the lump in his throat, before braving the staircase. He felt more nauseous than hungry.

Sighing when he reached the bottom of the staircase, he assumed he was in no danger. Still, that didn't erase the daunting prospect of facing the beast in the dining room again. He made his way across the grand hall quickly. If the beast was waiting for him, he at least wanted to appear bold, brave. Despite his stature, and temper, and teeth, and claws, Kyle would not be intimidated.

But when he entered the dining hall he couldn't see the beast's hulking form rising from his throne-like chair, he wasn't met with a cold greeting. Kyle almost felt relieved, but he remembered when he had first entered the house yesterday, how he had searched for voices and faces in the dark, how he had been exposed by the daylight flooding through the window, and shivered. But there was no darkness for the beast to cloak himself in, and Kyle wondered if darkness was the only disguise that a creature as formidable as the beast could fit into.

"Good morning, Kyle!"

He jumped at the voice, but then noticed that a beaming Pip had entered on a silver cart.

"Good morning, Pip," Kyle smiled, composing himself. His eyes roamed the room once more. "Where is your master? Is he awake yet?"

"Oh, he had his breakfast a while ago," Pip replied. "He gets up rather early, but yours is ready and waiting for you. Take a seat!"

Kyle nodded, and tentatively sat in the beast's chair, feeling somewhat like Goldilocks. But Pip didn't stop him, so Kyle smiled and placed a napkin on his lap. Suddenly, the doors on either side of the fireplace opened, and gleaming silver carts rushed in. Perfectly choreographed, they lined up either side of the table, and Kyle couldn't help but laugh in disbelief at the wonderful, plentiful food that was on offer.

"Is this all for me?"

"Of course!" Pip replied. "You can have whatever you want, Kyle."

"Really?" Kyle asked. The task of choosing seemed daunting to him. "All right…"

The first cart to Kyle's right offered tea. The teapot had the same burgundy and gold pattern of Pip's, but was – fortunately – expressionless. Kyle placed it on the table, as well as collecting the small jug of milk and the bowl of sugar from the cart. As he poured his tea into the cup already waiting for him, the cart on his left side edged forward. Kyle took the rack of golden, crispy toast, and selected a dish of butter and a small jar of jam. Pleased, the cart left Kyle to his breakfast, disappearing into whatever room lay beyond the fireplace. Kyle wondered where it all came from…

As he pondered that, the smell of meat drifted into his nose. When he looked to his right he saw a cart of glistening bacon, sausage, and black pudding.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry but I'm afraid I don't eat pork…" Kyle said, not sure whether to direct his apology to Pip or the cart.

The cart wheeled itself away, and the cart on the other side of the table came forward, presenting a selection of scrambled, poached, or boiled eggs. Kyle chewed on his toast as he considered his choice, before grabbing a plate and scooping some scrambled eggs onto it.

The smell of pork was replaced by the smell of oats, and to Kyle's right was a wide, delicious bowl of creamy porridge. Still, he smiled and shook his head.

"No thank you. Tomorrow, perhaps?"

Only one more cart remained, the most colourful one of all, with apples, strawberries, and grapes. Kyle selected a green apple and a knife to cut it with - he supposed at this breakfast table he couldn't just bite into it – and some strawberries too, they had always been his favourite.

"Will that be all?" Pip asked.

"Oh yes, thank you!" Kyle grinned, staring down at his breakfast, overawed by the variety. "I've never seen so much food!"

Pip nodded at the last cart, before it left the room.

"How did you sleep?" Pip asked, hopping from his own cart onto the table.

Kyle sighed. "Not well, I'm afraid. Yesterday was very… overwhelming."

Before Pip could answer, a new voice entered the room:

"Pip! Is our guest up?"

"Yes, he's having his breakfast!" Pip replied, trying to strain his voice to the deeper, commanding volume of the stranger.

Kyle leaned forward, and asked softly, "who is that?"

"Gregory, the butler," Pip replied, in an equally gentle tone. "He's been here longer than any of us."

Another cart stopped beside the table, but instead of food Kyle saw the hammer he recognised from yesterday, still smiling; a pair of pruners with one eye on each blade; and a grand, silver doorstop. There was a valiant explorer figure atop the heavy base that had now become animated. He was the only servant in the house Kyle had seen who resembled a human.

"Oh, um, good morning…" Kyle didn't know how to address this odd bunch.

"Good morning, Kyle," the doorstop replied.

Kyle blinked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"How do you know my name?" he asked.

"The master told us. I suppose you are in need of some introductions yourself?"

Kyle chuckled and nodded.

"Well, I am Gregory, to my right is Christophe-"

"Bonjour, monsieur," the pair of pruners interjected.

Kyle balked at the husky, French accent.

"Oh, um, bonjour," he replied.

"And on the end there is Kenny."

"Kyle and I have already met," the hammer said. "I was in the master's pocket."

"Oh, yes, that's right you were." Kyle smiled.

"Are you enjoying your breakfast?" Kenny asked.

"It's delicious!"

"And are you enjoying your stay here?" Gregory added.

Pleasantries became stifled, and Kyle lowered his head and sighed.

"Not really, no… you are all lovely, and I appreciate your efforts to try to make me feel at home. I wish I could say the same for your master."

The servants all glanced at each other warily, as if anxious they were failing at their duties.

"Oh, don't mind the master!" Kenny chuckled. "He's just nervous!"

"We haven't had guests for a long time," Christophe added.

"He really does want to make a good impression, you know." Gregory nodded.

"Does he? Well, he can at least be clearer about what exactly I'm supposed to be doing here. I haven't got a clue…"

"I suppose the master will reveal his intentions when the time is right," Gregory replied. "In the meantime… would you like a tour of the house after breakfast? Perhaps it would make you feel more at ease?"

"Yes…" Kyle whispered, before smiling and nodding. "Yes, I would very much like a tour. Thank you."

After all, he had wanted to learn more about this house even when it was just a peculiar star on his narrow horizon.

* * *

An enthusiastic Gregory had been leading Kyle around the house for an hour, and he was beginning to think he would never feel at ease here. Who on earth could feel at ease in such a large space? Perhaps if there were more people in the house, Kyle reasoned, it would inspire more comfort. If a family moved in, the halls would ring with laughter instead of the whisper of a tinkling chandelier. But there had been a family living there once, Kyle remembered, although there was hardly a trace of them left in the admittedly beautiful rooms.

Kyle had marvelled at the glittering, embroidered pillows in the bedrooms, the crystal in the bathrooms, and the grand marble fireplace in the sitting room. Those features were still alluring enough to distract from the fading paint, the chipped plaster, and the dust that coated everything like it was trying to preserve the fading beauty. It even sparkled when the sun shone through the windows.

Kyle wondered if the beast ever stalked these rooms, if in his temper he had ever torn a curtain, smashed a vase, or ripped a painted face from the wall. What could they ever mean to a beast, anyway? Surely they dealt in blood and soil, not lace and porcelain? But in his jacket and trousers, and with his fiery, aureate eyes, he was unlike any animal Kyle had ever known.

Some of the rooms had been shut up, and when Kyle asked Gregory why that was, he muttered something about the expense of it all before moving quickly on. He was good at that, Kyle realised, evading an answer. Kyle was careful to be sensitive when enquiring about the family who lived here before, and Gregory was just as careful not to give Kyle anything substantial, or concrete, or something he didn't already know. Kyle was still completely clueless as to what happened to the troubled son, or how the beast came to occupy Tenorman Hall, but Kyle had a horrifying feeling that the two were linked.

"And this is the drawing room," Gregory said, as Kyle opened the door for him. But his eyes were drawn to the beast sat in his armchair, rather than the furniture. "Oh, sorry, sir, we didn't mean to disturb-"

"It's fine," the beast cut in, barely glancing at them. "Gregory, I wish to speak to Kyle alone."

Kyle glanced at Gregory, desperate to find his voice. He would've told him not to go.

"Of course, sir," Gregory replied, though he didn't sound sure of himself.

He shuffled out of the room, and when he was gone Kyle's damp fingers slipped off the knob. He winced when the door shut with a loud thud. He hoped it would close with a soft click. They were both stubborn creatures, Kyle realised. Neither moved nor spoke. His feet were rooted to the carpet, while the beast's eyes were trained on the wall in front of him. Although admittedly, fear had seized every muscle in Kyle's body. He couldn't have moved if he wanted to.

"I… I would like to apologise for my behaviour at dinner."

Kyle blinked, and his fingers flexed at his sides. The beast's unexpected admission coaxed a strange, tentative comfort. Kyle was tempted to resist though, he couldn't afford to let his guard down.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Kyle felt he should say more, but it was difficult to find words when the beast wouldn't even look at him.

"Gregory has been giving me a tour of the house," he finally said, he felt a smile spread across his face and didn't try to subdue it. "It's beautiful."

When the beast raised his head, doubt gleaming in his eyes, Kyle could barely breathe.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes, I think it's magnificent. And your staff… they are all very friendly…"

"Do you still want to leave?"

Kyle was unsure. He didn't know how to negotiate the positive and negative aspects of being here. Were all the charming, enthralling, fascinating things enough to keep him bolting from someone –  _something_  – he felt he had to get away from?

"At the present moment, no I don't. But…" Kyle faltered, glancing at the carpet before remembering his promise to himself. He would not be intimidated. "But you must learn to control your temper."

The beast nodded, glancing at the empty grate.

"All right, I will."

Kyle nodded slowly, cautious of his victory.

"Thank you."

Kyle had turned his back to the beast, about to open the door when he said; "Every evening after dinner you must join me in this room."

Kyle glanced over his shoulder, before turning around to face the beast properly. His fingers were suddenly fidgeting again.

"Yes, um…" he paused, pursed his lips. He had to stop the sudden rush of warmth at his cheeks. "I, I don't know what I should call you."

"Eric," the beast replied. "My name is Eric."

"Eric…" Kyle whispered, trying it on his tongue. It felt like a decent item of clothing, but when you try it on something doesn't feel right.

_Eric_

Normal, short, oddly human.

"You are free to go," Eric said, more of a command than a request.

So Kyle nodded and left, the beast's name a haunting echo.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys. I've been a bit distracted lately, but I really do feel confident now that updates will be more regular. The events of this chapter begin pretty much where the last chapter left off. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!

Kyle kept to his promise, and joined Eric in the drawing room after dinner. Once his tour of the house had finished, he spent the rest of the day in his bedroom, chatting with Bebe, and avoiding his host. Kyle was actually rather relieved to be performing one of his supposed duties. Strange as the terms of his employment were, he wanted to abide by them. Although he resented being told what to do without any kind of manners present, following orders was the only thing he could seem to make sense of in this odd house. So many questions remained unanswered, not just about the house's eerie history but Kyle's reason for being here in the first place. His curiosity was making him reluctant to execute his escape plan, collecting dust just like everything else.

Their evening meal had been delicious, and since Kyle had been punctual, warm too. A blushing pink salmon, with creamy herb sauce, and new potatoes glistening with butter had been waiting for him. They hardly ever ate fish at home, Kyle reminded himself not to become too accustomed to such luxury items. Still, the silence in which they ate the dinner allowed Kyle to fully savour their meal. They seemed to regard each other as phantoms, not looking up from their plates. Kyle was sat at one end of the long dining table, and Eric was sat at the other. Cutlery, a candelabra, and hostile unfamiliarity between them.

They were closer together in the cosier drawing room. Eric was slouching in his armchair by the fire, relaxing, Kyle imagined, like a bear would on the banks of a violent, unforgiving river, while he was sitting on the rather uncomfortable, shallow settee. The sky was darkening, the comforting, transparent day waning into night. The silence was stifling, and with the door shut, Kyle felt like he was trapped. Unless he decided to leap out of the bay window and run through the gardens, Eric was obstructing Kyle's only exit and he began to wonder if he was lured into a bear's den, rather than invited into a gentleman's drawing room. He could hardly broach the subject, but then again, he didn't feel like he could ask Eric anything. His host was staring at the fireplace, the coals smouldering in the grate, and his eyes seemed to be alight with calculation. If he wouldn't talk, then Kyle would have to prise his mouth open for some sort of explanation, discover his intentions. They must speak.

Kyle opened his mouth, but clamped it shut again when he heard a thud at the door. Eric lifted his head slowly.

"What?" he asked, directing his question to the door.

"Would you like some tea or coffee, sir?" Pip spoke from the hall.

"No, thank you!"

"Would our guest?"

Eric glanced at Kyle, and he blinked, shifting in his seat.

"Oh, y-y-yes, I would," Kyle replied. He was unsure if Pip could hear him, if he was even supposed to address him. "Thank you."

"Let them in, then."

Kyle bristled at Eric's orders, delivered in such a brusque manner, but got up and opened the door. He smiled when he saw an eager Pip and Butters waiting for him. It was difficult to comprehend that when Eric wasn't around he could feel comfortable in this house.

"Good evening, Kyle," Pip said.

"Good evening," Kyle replied with a nod.

"Sit, please sit!"

Kyle returned to his seat, and he heard the creak of the trolley wheels as Pip followed him. He made himself a cup of tea, lifting the cup and saucer off the trolley.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Pip replied, before the trolley wheeled away again.

The door remained open after Pip and Butters left, revealing the shadowy grand hall. Still, Kyle didn't want to close it, he felt like he could breathe easily when it was open. He sipped at the piping hot tea, before placing it on the small side table to let it cool down.

"Were the staff like that when you came here?" he asked.

"Like what?"

Eric was still preoccupied with the fire. Kyle arched an eyebrow at his nonchalance.

"Like objects, not people."

"No," Eric replied. "No, they were not."

"How long have you lived here?"

"All my life."

Kyle's breath caught on the weighty answer, even Eric's briefest responses were delivered with gravitas. Intrigue reverberated throughout him.

"You were born here?"

"Yes, I was."

"What happened to your parents?"

"They are long dead."

Kyle found himself shifting closer, and he watched Eric's large chest rise and fall. For once, there was no part of him that was afraid.

"I've heard there was a family living here once… a human family."

Eric's head slowly turned to look at Kyle, like it was effort for his muscles to manoeuvre a body so mighty. Kyle reached out for the cushion beneath him, the gilded thread felt coarse on his fingertips.

"Where did you hear that?" Eric asked.

"The village," Kyle replied, his voice faint. "Everybody knew who they were except for me, I wasn't born in South Park, you see."

"And what do they say about the family who used to live here?"

Kyle remembered Stan, cigarette in his mouth, the both of them looking out over the meadows as he recounted the demise of Tenorman Hall. It was only a short while ago, but the breeze, and the bleat of the goats, felt like history to Kyle now.

"That they were members of the gentry, unsurprisingly," Kyle replied, firmer now. "A small family too, they only had one son. But the father died before the child was born, and the mother passed away when their son was a young man. But he lost all their wealth, and nobody has seen him since. It's all very tragic."

Eric's eyes gleamed, his nostrils flared.

"I suppose…" he glanced at the door and rose. "I… I, I must go… "

"Oh…" Kyle's eyebrows furrowed, and his gut clenched. He had wanted desperately to know answers but was it worth it when he may have offended Eric? "Didn't you want to stay longer?"

"No, I just want to go to bed," Eric replied, he didn't look at Kyle as he marched to the door.

Kyle found himself leaping to his feet, in pursuit of his formidable host.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

Eric spun around, looming over Kyle and appearing wilder than ever.

"Yes!" he roared.

Kyle jumped, and inched away, trembling as he stared up at Eric. But soon Eric sighed, his shoulders heaving and his eyes slipping shut.

"Yes," he whispered, before fixing his gaze on Kyle. "Yes, I'm sorry."

Kyle shook his head, lips pursed.

"It's fine," he replied. "Shall I see you in the morning?"

Eric nodded, shallow and distant.

"Good night, Eric."

Eric didn't return the sentiment, leaving Kyle to stand alone, trembling.

* * *

The following evening, Eric was pacing his bedroom again, waiting for Christophe's return. The outfit he had changed into for his meal was feeling more confining the longer he wore it, especially when he was walking on all fours. He prayed a seam wouldn't burst. He had to look his best for Kyle, he couldn't keep Kyle waiting in the dining room while he tried to sew the hole his shirt, or look for a new one. Although, what effort had Kyle made with him except shutting himself up in his room, staring at his plate during dinner, and interrogating him in the drawing room? Why did Kyle feel the need to ask so many questions? To shut himself away? Of course, Eric already knew the answers. This was no ordinary house, and he was no ordinary host.

Kenny and Gregory stopped muttering from his bedside table when they saw Christophe squeeze through the gap in the door, already open ajar.

"I have informed our guest that dinner will be ready shortly," he announced when he entered the room.

Eric nodded, still pacing. "Yes, thank you…"

"Something wrong, sir?" Kenny asked. He must have wanted to make such an enquiry the entire time he was in there.

"No, no, I'm just… concerned," Eric replied. "Nothing has improved between us and the rose just seems to be wilting faster."

His staff all glanced at each other. Eric was growing tired of their wary expressions that hadn't diminished in ten years. Gregory, as always, spoke up.

"But, sir you just have to give it-"

"Time!" Eric cut in. "I know that!"

"It's only been two days!"

"But I  _don't_  have time! And I have no clue what he's feeling other than fear!" Eric turned his head, and winced. "You should have seen how frightened he was last night."

"Only because you lost your temper," Christophe pointed out.

"I know I did!" Eric snapped. "But he keeps pestering me for answers, and how can I tell him the truth? I can't! Not now! It will put everything at risk!"

"You just need to change the subject," Gregory replied. "Engage him in conversation."

"What should I say?" Eric despaired. "I have no idea how to impress him, or endear myself to him."

"You don't have to impress him, just ask him questions," Kenny replied.

"You know so little about him, I'm sure he would appreciate it," Christophe added.

"Fine," Eric sighed, although he suspected that Kyle would greet any questions about his life with hostility, Eric knew  _he_  would. "I must go to dinner, he'll be expecting me."

He left the room without another word, prowling down the staircase before rising on his two legs when he reached the last step. Even now, it felt dizzying standing at such a height, viewing the house he had once toddled around as an infant from such a lofty stature. His claws tapping the carpet echoed only slightly, the sound surely lost once it reached the high window. Just like this house, lost in time. When Eric entered the dining room it was empty, and when he glanced at the clock he saw that he was actually two minutes early.

He took his seat, and soon a trolley entered the room through one of the side doors. It creaked as it wheeled itself over to the table, the two china plates rattling. When it stopped in front of Eric, he took the plate of lamb and the small dish of mint sauce from the tray. The trolley then made its way to Kyle's empty seat and waited dutifully.

Eric had managed to get a grip on his knife and fork when he heard Kyle's footsteps down the stairs. He soon heard him march across the hall and into the dining room, swift and tense. Eric kept his head lowered, but glanced at Kyle when he said;

"Good evening."

Kyle paused, and glanced at Eric too, unsure if he should answer.

"Good evening," he replied.

He marched to his end of the table, but not before Eric could notice he had a book tucked under his arm. He watched Kyle collect his dinner, before placing the book on his lap and his napkin over that. An effective shield, when Eric needed Kyle to let his guard down.

* * *

In the drawing room, Kyle was more reserved than he was the night before. It seemed that Eric's coarse reaction to his questions had stunned him into compliant silence. He had followed Eric from the dining room into the drawing room, brushing past him and by the time Eric had shut the door, Kyle had settled on the settee and opened his book, immersed already. Eric could have snatched the book off him, threw it into the fire, and demanded Kyle speak to him, but what would be the point? Eric had to help cultivate Kyle's fondness of him, not frighten him into submission. But sitting in his armchair, quiet and helpless, wasn't getting him anywhere. He would fester there if he didn't act; feral and unloved forever. What could he say though, that would make Kyle want to engage in conversation? But perhaps he wasn't as absorbed in his book as he seemed, when his eyes occasionally drifted from the page, meeting Eric's persistent gaze.

Clearing his throat, Eric asked; "What are you reading?"

Kyle looked up from the book, eyes widened. Eric's shoulders hunched, like he was sinking into his evening shirt.

"Oh, uh,  _The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde_ ," Kyle replied with a smile, looking at the cover like he needed to be reminded. "Robert Louis Stevenson."

Eric lifted his head slowly, before lowering it again. A thoughtful, mechanical nod. Kyle had already returned to his book.

"Are you enjoying it?"

Kyle looked up again, and an easy smile lit up his face. He nodded and shifted closer to him, trying to make himself comfortable.

"Yes, I am," he replied. "I finished it yesterday, and now I'm reading it again."

"Why would you do that?"

Kyle shrugged, glancing at the cover again.

"Boredom, I suppose."

Eric noticed his body stiffen as soon as the words came out of his mouth, momentary comfort had made Kyle forget himself. The dull, rigid tension was a reprimand for such carelessness, punishing both of them, it seemed. Eric refused to let it continue.

"You enjoy reading, I take it?"

Kyle was slow to respond, but he grinned when he realised there was nothing to be afraid of.

"I love it. It's my favourite pastime." His smile wavered, and he glanced around the room, fiddling with the pages of the book. "Do you like to read?...  _can_  you read?"

Eric remembered gazing out of the window while he barely listened to his tutor on long, sunny afternoons; he remembered being allowed into the enormous library to select a book of his own (usually one brimming with adventure, starring a boyish hero he'd love to befriend); and he hazily recalled his mother's words floating into his sleepy ears as she read to him at bedtime.

"Yes, I can read," he replied. "But it's been a long time since I've picked up a book."

Kyle nodded to himself, closing the book and staring at it with a furrowed brow.

"You can read this one if you want?" he offered, holding the book out.

Eric stared at what was being offered to him, wondering what it meant. He glanced at Kyle, searching his face and saw nothing but warmth.

"Really?" he asked, his voice was quiet. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am," Kyle chuckled, the first time he had ever laughed in front of Eric. "It's a brilliant novel. It would be nice to discuss it with someone."

Eric nodded. "All right… thank you."

Eric swore Kyle's eyes were glinting when he took the book off him. Like most objects it felt weightless, thin, and fragile in his grasp. Objects as small as this could easily break in his large, sharp paws that he still had difficulty manoeuvring. This book clearly meant a lot to Kyle, and to damage it would break this tentative comradery they appeared to be embarking on. Still, he attempted to open the book, catching hold of a few pages instead of a single one. He let the pages go, and they fluttered back into place. With a single claw, Eric tried to turn a page, but the paper was so thin, he couldn't risk it. Grumbling, he handed the book back to Kyle.

"Would you… would you mind reading it to me?"

Kyle blinked, before a smile lit up his face and he shook his head. He retrieved the book from Eric, before settling into the settee and turning to the first page. He began to read, and for the first time since Kyle arrived here - and maybe even before that - Eric felt himself relax. Perhaps they had needed to hear somebody else's story, before they got to know each other's?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking back over the last chapter I realised that I had set a lot of the action in the sitting room, when I had wanted it to be set in the drawing room. I have since gone back and edited the last chapter. It may seem insignificant, but I really want the layout of the house to seem authentic so I'm kind of kicking myself over that mistake. I'm sorry, guys. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you all so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The next morning after breakfast, Kyle had returned to his bedroom but hesitated outside the door. Although there was no conversation made after Kyle had finished reading a couple of chapters of  _Jekyll and Hyde_  last night, he still felt invigorated. He still felt like he had achieved something, like his purpose in the house was becoming clearer. Why should he just wait until the evening to talk to Eric? Surely the best employees were proactive, weren't they? So Kyle wasn't going to shut himself up in his room, he was going to seek Eric out.

Taking a bracing breath, he began to march down the corridor before he realised he had no idea where Eric's bedroom was. Gregory had never pointed it out on the tour of the house. Still, Kyle kept walking, hoping he would at least find one of the members of staff who could point him in the right direction. Soon, he heard self-satisfied, feminine giggling, and a lower murmuring that Kyle knew to be Kenny. Turning a corner, Kyle saw Kelly and Kenny in the distance, their conversation becoming clearer.

"Oh, Kenny, stop teasing me!" she said, hopping away even though she craned her silver head to look at him.

"I'm not teasing you! We'll be together soon, my darling, just you wait!" Kenny replied. "Soon I'll be able to hold you and kiss you and-"

"Don't!" Kelly snapped, her whole body twisting. "Don't turn my head like this! You'll only end up breaking my heart…"

"Breaking your heart?" Kenny asked, hopping closer to her and lowering his voice. "I wouldn't dream of it."

She looked at him and sighed.

"Oh, Kenny…"

Kyle saw them nestling close together, the closest thing they could share to an embrace. The reality tugged at his heart, he didn't want to disturb such an oddly intimate moment, but to watch them felt just as intrusive.

"Excuse me?"

Kelly yelped at the sound of Kyle's voice, and lowered her eyes.

"Oh, hello, Kyle!" Kenny replied, unfazed.

Kelly, however, had hopped away without saying goodbye.

"Sorry about that…" Kenny chuckled.

"Please don't apologise, it's fine," Kyle smiled. "Rather sweet, actually."

Kyle thought of all the romance novels he had read that left his heart brimming with joy, almost intoxicated. While he longed to be independent, to make something of himself, and see the world, he couldn't help but entertain the thought of finding a beguiling man along the way and falling hopelessly in love with him. The fantasy alone was enough to leave him exhilarated and yearning, no matter how idealistic of an ambition it seemed. Increasingly it appeared to him that he only dealt in lofty aspirations.

"We've been courting for a long time," Kenny added. "I care a lot about her but it can't ever go anywhere, not while we're like this, at least."

"I'm sorry about that," Kyle murmured.

He was still so curious about the staff, and haunted by the notion that they were once as human as he was. Broaching the subject with Eric had ended horrifically, and he even found it difficult to question Bebe about it. The last thing he wanted was to upset her.

"Never mind," Kenny sighed. "Is there a reason you're wandering around the halls on a beautiful, sunny day?"

"Yes, I'm looking for Eric," Kyle replied. "I thought he may be in his bedroom, but I don't know where that is."

"Well, I can take you there. This way!"

Kenny began to hop down the corridor and Kyle followed him.

"Does he ever come out of his bedroom during the day?" Kyle asked. He assumed that if Kenny was so willing to escort him to Eric's mysterious bedroom then he could sate some of the curiosity he had. "I only ever see him in the evenings."

"He likes the evening, says it's safer."

Kyle's eyebrows furrowed.

"Safer to do what? Who else can see him in the house besides his staff?"

"I don't know, but he's a strange fellow. I suppose he just likes to be on his own."

They stopped in front of another tall, mahogany door. It was identical to Kyle's, but appeared so much more daunting now he knew what – rather,  _who_  – was on the other side.

"Here we are!" Kenny announced.

"Thank you." Kyle nodded.

He took a quivering breath before knocking.

"Who's there?"

The door seemed to shudder as Eric's voice travelled through it.

"Kyle."

Padding could be heard on the other side, and Kyle flinched when the door was opened to reveal Eric's stony face.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Kyle had no idea how to answer, had forgotten why he was standing there.

"I… I…"

"I'll give you some privacy," Kenny said before hopping away.

"Well?" Eric pressed, gripping the door tighter.

Kyle bristled at the insolent tone, and he rolled his shoulders back.

"Well, I thought I was here to keep you company," he replied. "I'm only trying to do my job."

Kyle heard a low growl rumble in the back of Eric's throat, and he gulped. The upset Eric, the vulnerable, clumsy Eric that Kyle had witnessed in the past two days couldn't crack this irritated, frightening mask he now wore.

"What did you have in mind?"

Except for that; a calmer, more open-minded question. Kyle blinked, fidgeted. He thought of the brilliant sun that had woken him up and the gorgeous, verdant view from the dining room at breakfast time.

"It's a beautiful day, and I'm yet to see the grounds," he replied. "Why don't we go outside and feed the birds?"

Eric shook his head.

"I don't go outside."

Kyle chuckled, his brow creased.

"Yes you do, I hear you prowling around outside below my window at night."

Eric lowered his head like Kyle's words stung him. Before Kyle could apologise, he asked: "Is this really what you want to do?"

"Yes, it is," Kyle replied. "I know we have our arrangement after dinner, but I think it will make my stay here worthwhile if we were to spend more time together. Wouldn't you agree?"

Eric sighed and nodded.

"Very well…"

* * *

Kyle beamed as he stepped out of the house, after two days spent indoors it was lovely to feel the sun on his face, natural, he wasn't used to spending so much of his time inside. In the bright, late morning the overgrown grounds didn't seem so neglected. The enormous, vibrant flowers didn't seem so intimidating. He felt like he had fallen into a fairy tale, a woodland shrouded by flowers, or a tropical paradise ensnared in vines. Slowly, Tenorman Hall was starting to reveal its magic, the mystique Kyle knew it possessed after first being drawn to that enchanting, distant light. Birdsong whistled through the air, and Kyle chuckled at the sparrows diving and hovering above him.

Gregory had spotted him and Eric descending the stairs, and was most delighted when Kyle announced they were taking a walk in the grounds. Perhaps he was glad that the normally nocturnal Eric was getting some fresh, morning air? When Kyle asked if there were any seeds in the kitchen they could use to feed the birds, Gregory shuffled away immediately, and soon a trolley carrying one bag of seeds rolled itself over to the bottom of the stairs.

But Eric growled beside him now, sullen, head bowed, and turned away from the sun. Kyle frowned, but wouldn't let Eric deter him from enjoying such a nice day. Opening the bag, Kyle scattered some of the seeds around his feet like he was feeding the chickens back home, and then placed some in his palm. The birds soon arrived, swooping down for some lunch. They hovered above Kyle's palm, and bobbed at his feet. Some hesitated at being in close proximity to Eric however, and promptly flew away, chirping in alarm as they did.

Kyle winced, but found himself reaching out for Eric's arm when he saw him turn away. He stiffened beneath Kyle's fingers. Kyle certainly panicked himself when his fingers glided into that thick fur, suddenly aware he was touching him.

"Is something wrong?"

Eric shook his head, glanced at the door.

"This was a bad idea," he muttered.

Kyle's grip was loosening.

"Wait!" he said. "Please don't go back inside… here." His fingers slid to Eric's wrist, holding out his paw before pouring some of the seeds onto it. "Go on."

Blinking and glancing at Kyle warily, Eric extended his paw to the birds but they still flew away like they sensed a trap. Kyle furrowed his eyebrows at the sight, briefly distracted by the two birds that had landed on his wrist, pecking right out of his palm.

"Why do they all come to you?" Eric asked.

Kyle shrugged.

"They just feel comfortable coming to me, I suppose."

"Well, what can I do to make them come to me?"

Kyle pursed his lips, wondering if there was any way of making Eric appear less threatening to them.

"Crouch down," he instructed.

Eric obeyed him, and Kyle scattered a trail of seeds that led from the pebbled ground to Eric's cupped paws.

"Now what?"

"Just wait."

A bird fluttered to the ground, craning its neck curiously before it pecked at the seeds on the ground. Soon, it hopped straight into Eric's palm, and Kyle smiled at the gleam in his eyes.

"There!" Kyle grinned, as other birds started to follow suit. "It's as simple as that!"

It was the first time Kyle had ever heard Eric laugh; a throaty, disbelieving chuckle. A dizzying sound, he never thought he'd hear it.

"Kyle?" he asked.

"Yes?"

Eric glanced at the birds in his paws, before looking at Kyle again.

"Would you like to join me for tea?"

Kyle blinked, studied Eric's calm, contented face, and nodded.

"Yes," he replied, grinning. "Yes, that would be lovely."

* * *

Kyle had only ever partaken in afternoon tea a handful of times, when he was a child living in London. His father would take him to a bustling tea room and talk to him about universities, and professions, urging Kyle to make or at least contemplate decisions he didn't understand while he sipped at tea and savoured cake and listened to the delicate laughter of people much wealthier than him and his father. Kyle realised now, why his father had been so hasty, moulding Kyle's life to secure his own future. But soon he had lost his grasp on a lifestyle they had both taken for granted, and once in South Park he had begun plotting again, scouring the village for anything promising. Leslie had asked him to tea, Kyle remembered, in that strange little tearoom in town.

In Tenorman Hall, afternoon tea was taken in the sitting room and Gregory relished organising it all for his master and this new member of the house. He was very enthusiastic today, Kyle considered, eager to carry out requests. Pip, Butters, and Kelly were there to assist. Kyle couldn't help but smirk at the sound of Gregory's orders confidently bouncing off the walls. A tower of fluffy finger sandwiches – watercress, cheddar, smoked salmon - was at the centre of the table, with a plate of scones and a gleaming china teapot (along with small jugs of milk and sugar), were placed either side. The sunlight carved the shadow of the window panes on the carpet, and the birds still chirped outside. Kyle felt the warm rays on his face as he sipped at his tea and bit into a delicious scone, slathered in strawberry jam.

"Will you be needing anything else?" Gregory asked.

"No, Gregory, this is lovely, thank you," Kyle replied.

"Yes, thank you, Gregory," Eric added, slurping at his tea.

They both turned their heads upon hearing a soft thud at the window, a nosy bird peering in. Kyle chuckled, the bird hovered in the air before flying away, no doubt soaring over the roof.

"You, uh… seemed to have an affinity with the birds earlier," Eric said.

"Yes, well, my father and I keep chickens and goats," Kyle replied. "I'm around animals a lot at home."

"And you enjoy it?"

Kyle shrugged, suddenly sheepish.

"I wouldn't say I feel enjoyment but… I care for the animals, and I have to do my bit to help around the house."

Eric nodded, took another loud sip.

"I see…"

Kyle was waiting for another question, but when nothing came he glanced around the room he had only been in once before. He soon spotted the most intriguing item by far, a grand piano covered only by a thin film of dust.

"You know I noticed that piano when Gregory was showing me around. Who played it?"

Eric lifted his eyes from the cup, and Kyle's breath hitched.

"I did, once…"

"You?" Kyle asked, brow furrowed. "You played it?"

"Yes. A long time ago."

"But how?" Kyle stiffened as soon as the question was out of his mouth. He knew his incredulity had splintered something inside Eric, just like his questions two nights ago had. Heat crawled up his throat. "I mean, I…"

Eric scowled, and avoided Kyle's gaze. But Kyle could see his eyes were clouded by thought, by memories too painful to be shared. He sighed.

"I don't mean to upset you, but I can't help but be curious."

"We'll step outside for a moment."

Kyle jolted at the sound of Gregory's voice, but nodded at him gratefully. He saw that Gregory was ushering Butters, Pip, and Kelly out of the room. In the quiet, the tentative conversation, he could have forgotten they were still there.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "I know I upset you by asking these questions, but I'm living with a stranger and I wish that wasn't the case."

Eric huffed, still looked to the faded carpet.

"You've made it perfectly clear that you don't want to be here."

"That's not true!"

Kyle's voice rang through the room, startling them both. Their wide eyes finally met, and Kyle wondered if his echoing words were true. If so, he didn't know such a confession was buried in him. Still, he shifted forward. A table was in between them, but he hoped that an honesty he wished would soon be reciprocated could bring them closer.

"Actually I… I don't know how I feel," he admitted. "It's been a short while but I am growing fond of this house. And since I am your assistant, or guest, or whatever you wish me to be, I feel like I am entitled to know who I'm staying with. You're unlike anybody I've ever known and that fascinates me and terrifies me in equal measure."

"Do you not think I feel the same way?"

Honestly, Kyle didn't. What was there for Eric to be fascinated by? Let alone afraid of? Was Kyle really that remarkable? Perhaps to someone as strange and alone as Eric he was a mystery. An outsider that had been washed up on this crumbling island was sure to terrify Eric when all that surrounded him was dangerous, unforgiving sea, a world he didn't understand and who couldn't understand him. But Kyle had dared to go beyond the formidable gates, and he wanted to understand. Eric just had to believe it, and realise that Kyle believed in him too.

"Perhaps I should stop asking questions," he said. "Perhaps I should wait for you to volunteer any information yourself. Would that be better?"

Studying the table in front of them, Eric then nodded.

"All right," Kyle replied, taking a sip of his tea. "Thank you."

In the silence, Kyle noticed the faint ticking of a clock. He would always feel the seconds slipping away in this house, but all he could do was wait.


	9. Chapter 9

The ancient floorboards creaked under Eric's paws as he walked down the corridor, heading for breakfast. He didn't wince at the long, ugly sound, he had no one to disturb. Kyle was sure to still be sleeping heavily. It was only after their first day truly spent together, that Eric realised they had been passing each other like ships in the night, only meeting over a dining table, or a novel in the drawing room. It was easily done, he supposed, in such a large house. There were so many places one could hide.

But Eric didn't want to hide anymore, despite his initial wariness he had come to enjoy the sun on his face yesterday. Despite Kyle's persisting curiosity, he appreciated the deal they had struck and although he was grateful for such a compromise he feared Kyle would become impatient and leave. Eric couldn't risk that, even if they were starting to form a tentative friendship it still felt so much safer to conceal what he felt was undesirable. But perhaps he could give Kyle something else? To show that he was worth waiting for? To show that Kyle did mean something to him, even if there were some things he wasn't willing to share just yet. But he would be ready, in time. All Kyle needed was to be patient.

He was nearing Kyle's bedroom now at the top of the stairs, and he was wondering if they would see each other before dinner. He wanted to, even if he had to seek Kyle out and request his company, but perhaps Kyle would seek him out too? He had yesterday, after all. Eric jolted at the sound of the door clicking open, so loud in the otherwise quiet, early morning. Kyle emerged, rubbing his still bleary eyes before he jolted too.

"Good morning."

"Good morning," Eric replied, clearing his throat before he asked, "did you not sleep well?"

Kyle furrowed his eyebrows.

"Pardon?"

Eric gulped, his stomach fluttering with a different kind of nerves. Anxious, but not suspicious, uncomfortable, but not entirely so.

"You're usually not awake this early," he replied.

"Oh…" Kyle nodded. "No, I slept fine. I was very tired after dinner, actually. I think the fresh air yesterday may have worn me out, I'm not sure."

"I see. We won't go outside again-"

"But I want to!" Kyle cut in, stepping forward and smiling. "I enjoyed myself yesterday."

"So did I."

Kyle then made a noise Eric had never heard before; a shy, content hum. It reverberated so warmly throughout him that for the first time in ten years his fur actually felt stifling. Of course, there was nothing he could do about that, and he supposed the warmth in his chest would also be difficult to shift. Kyle had tucked his hands behind his back, and Eric glanced at the stairs.

"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the staircase.

Kyle glanced too, a crease in his brow before he smiled up at Eric and nodded. Although it was large enough, they were still pressed quite closely together as they descended the stairs.

"What are your plans for the day?" Kyle asked.

"I'm not sure. What did you have in mind?"

"Me?"

Eric chuckled at the incredulity in his voice.

"Yes, I would like us to spend more time together. I enjoyed your company yesterday."

"Thank you," Kyle replied, much softer.

"Perhaps we could finish  _Jekyll and Hyde_?"

"Really?"

"Yes, I noticed last night we were nearing the end," Eric replied. "I would like to know what happens."

When Kyle didn't respond, Eric glanced at him only to find him smiling and nodding.

"All right," Kyle said. "I would like that, Eric."

They walked to breakfast, and when they entered the dining room an unspoken, guileless optimism came rushing in too.

* * *

"'…  _God knows I am careless; this is my true hour of death, and what is to follow concerns another than myself. Here then, as I lay down the pen and proceed to seal up my confession, I bring the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end.'"_

Kyle closed the book and looked up at Eric, smiling, and eyes shining.

"What did you think?" he asked.

"I enjoyed it," Eric replied, despite the piercing empathy he supposed he had enjoyed the novel. It certainly was a terrific story, perhaps even cathartic when he saw reflections of himself. "Although I wasn't expecting the ending to be quite so… sad."

"In what way?"

"It was all very confused," Eric replied, his heavy, untamed brow furrowed. "Almost as if when Jekyll was writing out his confession Hyde was controlling the pen. Even the last line, you're unsure who is referring to who."

"But I suppose that's the point, isn't it?" Kyle questioned. "It just demonstrates his deterioration."

Eric winced at the word. He was surrounded by deterioration every day; the fading walls and the wilting rose like a cruelly beautiful hourglass.

"Do you really think it is deterioration?"

"Yes," Kyle replied. "What would you call it?"

Eric had once thought he was deteriorating too, becoming more animal, more disconnected every day. Deterioration was definite, possessing only one direction. Eric had a chance for recovery.

"A transformation."

Kyle shook his head, glanced at the cover and flicked through the pages.

"But transformation had been occurring throughout the novel, this is more certain, more… abject."

The word weighed down on the both of them, like a spell that shouldn't have been uttered.

"I like your take on it though," Kyle added. "It's a lot more optimistic than my own."

"Or perhaps what Stevenson intended?"

Kyle smiled, and his shoulders sagged with exasperation.

"Even so, I'm glad you enjoyed the novel." His smile faded when he said, "I just wish I had more to read."

Eric blinked, a smile tugging at his mouth when he realised what he could give Kyle that didn't involve him recounting his painful history. In fact, it was more concrete than that, more tangible, and maybe that was ideal for now? A token, or an offering, that would show Kyle that he would be willing to share anything with him soon.

"You can have more to read," Eric replied, barely able to contain the glee in his voice.

Kyle's brow had creased and he chuckled.

"What?"

"Follow me."

Eric got up from his armchair before Kyle could even respond but he still followed him out of the drawing room. They hurried up the stairs in silence too before reaching a part of the house that had been shut away and forgotten long before Eric's transformation, a part of the house that Gregory had no doubt led Kyle through wordlessly on his tour.

"Where are we going?" Kyle asked. "Gregory told me most of these rooms here are shut up."

"They are."

"He said they were too expensive to keep open."

"They were, but I could open them again if I so wished…" Eric turned to Kyle and smiled. "Or if  _you_  so wished."

"Why on Earth does it matter what I want?" Kyle asked, chuckling.

"I want you to be happy here, Kyle," Eric replied. "I want to do whatever I can to make you happy here."

"Eric, I…" Kyle had lost his words but they kept walking. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me just yet." Eric grinned, before stopping in front of a door.

Kyle stood beside him, puzzled eyes following the engravings of the large door as if he could find any clues as to what lay inside. When he found none, he looked up at Eric with a tentative, trusting smile. Reaching into the pocket of his smoking jacket, Eric retrieved a collection of keys and unlocked the door. Kyle gasped as the forgotten library was revealed.

Eric had studied in here as a boy, had picked another storybook for his mother to read to him at bedtime. Although the book-lined shelves reached the ceiling, it seemed so much smaller now. No doubt the pages of the books had yellowed, the desk was coated in dust, and the sheen of the burgundy, leather settee had diminished, but Kyle was entranced. He moved slowly, cautiously, as if the room were a mirage that would vanish beneath his fingertips if he dared to reach out and touch anything. But it was real, and Eric wanted Kyle to know exactly that.

"What do you think?" Eric asked as if he needed to know the answer.

Kyle laughed, giddy and disbelieving.

"It's incredible! I've never seen so many books!"

"They're all yours."

The words wiped the smile off Kyle's face, and he stared at Eric with brimming eyes.

"Mine?" he asked, just above a whisper.

Eric nodded. "You can come here any time of day and spend as long as you like perusing the shelves. Of course, we haven't had new books for a while so they may be slightly dated-"

Eric huffed, Kyle arms were wrapped around his middle and his head was pressed into his chest.

"Thank you," Kyle said, voice warm on Eric's shirt. "This is the best gift anyone has ever given me."

Eric was afraid to move, afraid to breathe when Kyle was this close to him. But he didn't want to be separated from him just yet. He wished he had the courage to move closer. Kyle, however, seemed to remember himself and stepped away. His face had reddened and he avoided Eric's gaze.

"S-s-sorry, I… I, I don't know came over me," he said with a limp chuckle, quickly frowning to himself.

Eric sighed, endeared and emboldened. He didn't want Kyle to be discouraged from touching him.

"It's fine, please don't apologise," he replied, before lifting his paw to Kyle's warm cheek. Kyle's breath seemed to catch in his throat but he wasn't deterred by the claws or the size of Eric's paw. "I'm glad you like it."

Kyle smiled, his cheek swelling beneath Eric's paw and his face softening into a gentler pink.

"I do," he replied. "Very much."

* * *

Giving the library to Kyle was proving to be the best decision Eric had made in a long time. His restless, joyous energy as he perused the shelves was enough to make Eric feel giddy, only returning to Earth momentarily when he saw Kyle climb up the tall, thin ladder to reach the top shelves. Before Eric could express any concern or remind Kyle just how old that ladder was, Kyle was already on his way to the top, reaching for books and trying to balance them in his arms. Eric had intervened then, asking Kyle to pass some books down to him.

Although Kyle had assured him his company was appreciated, Eric decided he should let Kyle be alone in the library. What could he offer when Kyle was so immersed in leather bound classics? So he told Kyle he'd see him at dinner, and he himself felt restless all day waiting for such a time. Unsurprisingly, he was the first to arrive in the dining room. But Kyle arrived soon after, bright and smiling, and Eric didn't even attempt to change the subject when all Kyle wanted to talk about was the library, and what treasures he had found there. Eric hadn't wanted to hear anything else, he was captivated.

It was quiet in the drawing room, the wood crackling in the fire. But Kyle seemed relaxed, Eric noted, and so was he. In fact, he seemed tired. A day spent in the library must have worn him out. But Eric was surprised to see he hadn't bought a souvenir with him to dinner, which he usually did.

"I noticed you didn't bring a book with you tonight," he said. "I thought you might have after spending all day in the library."

Kyle blinked, like he hadn't realised he had arrived empty-handed.

"No," he replied. "I'd rather talk tonight."

Another surprise, hope fluttered in Eric's stomach.

"What about?"

Kyle glanced at the fire, pursed his lips before returning to Eric.

"I've been thinking about the agreement we came to in the sitting room yesterday, and I realised that perhaps you'd feel more comfortable talking about yourself if you knew more about my life… would I be right?"

Admittedly, Eric was dazed. It was the first invitation he had received in ten years, to something more important and promising than a dinner party or masked ball. He would be a fool not to take it.

"Yes," he whispered, nodding. He cleared his throat and said louder, "yes, I suppose that makes sense."

Kyle smiled, though lowered his gaze sheepishly.

"I haven't led the most interesting life, mind you-"

"I don't care," Eric interrupted. "I still want to hear about it."

Kyle nodded, surer now.

"All right… well, I suppose you already know my father."

Eric supposed that was true, but he winced at the circumstance and the deception in between.

"Did he ever tell you why we moved to Bedfordshire?" Kyle asked.

"No… no, we only ever talked business."

"Well, we lived in London before we came here," Kyle continued. "I was born there, and we were better-off then. I think it all started to drain away after my mother died, not just the money but my father's sense of purpose too, his strength."

Eric frowned.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Kyle."

"Thank you, but it's all right," Kyle replied with a weak smile. "I never knew my mother. She passed away when I was only a few hours old. When I was much older my father told me they had wanted a child for years but there were problems. She had miscarried several times before she finally had me. But perhaps being a mother was never meant to be for her, I often think that. My father would never say it out loud but I think sometimes he blames me for her loss, and sometimes I believe that too."

"Kyle…" Eric managed to say although his mind was rushing with the parallels between his life and Kyle unfolding in front of him. "Why on Earth would you think that?"

Of course, Eric could guess the answer, for he understood the compensation one may feel is due when they lose a parent so soon.

"Well, think about it, it all happened so quickly," Kyle answered matter-of-factly. "I'm born and my father has the child he's wanted for years, but then a few hours later his wife is dead. The correlation is easy to spot…" he sighed, before his voice became softer, serious. "I feel like I only know my parents through photographs. I hardly recognise my father. It seems that after my mother died he became so bitter, like the world had wronged him. I think after she was gone he just tolerated life. He tolerated London, he tolerated our old house, his job… maybe even me. But I want him to be happy, I want him to be proud of me. He was upset at the time but… I think losing his job was a good thing for him," he started nodding like he still had to convince himself that was true. "We had to get away and start again somewhere new. It's still an adjustment for him, living here, but I think something has lifted from him, he seems lighter. But I'm afraid I'll ruin it all again for him."

"How?"

"Because he sees a future for me and I can't stand it," Kyle's voice became taut, his face as solemn as the day they met. "I don't want it at all."

"And what would that be?"

"Marriage, and children, and assuming his job so I can support us both," Kyle replied. "He can't ever be alone, not now, he's too old."

"But you don't want that?"

That brief flicker of promise Eric felt was extinguished by Kyle's brimming eyes, the frustrated flush rising on his face, and how he could hardly bring himself to answer. He simply shook his head.

"I just don't understand how he can bet his happiness on me again when I've wrecked it all for him once before…"

Eric frowned, despaired over what he could possibly say or do.

"Kyle, I-"

"I'm sorry," Kyle interjected, pressing his wrists to his eyes. "I'm sorry for getting upset. I know it's difficult to understand."

Sighing, Eric realised that all he could offer Kyle was empathy.

"No, I do…"

"Really?"

"Yes, I… I feel like I only know my parents through photographs too."

"How?" Kyle asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, n-n-o, I… metaphorically speaking, I understand how you can only know your parents through memories," Eric replied, slightly startled. He didn't wish to reveal too much. "My father died while my mother was pregnant, so I never really knew who he was, and my mother never stopped grieving for him. It took eighteen years but it killed her in the end."

Kyle frowned, staring at Eric.

"Eric, I'm… I, I'm terribly sorry."

"Please, Kyle, you don't need to be sorry." Eric shook his head. "Like you though, I wanted to make my mother feel happy again, to ensure her life carry on as normal. I was obligated to take on all his responsibilities, but I could never become him. I could never fill the void he left behind, but I could never become myself either, discover who I was. I'm sure my father was a great man and I admire him very much, but without him in my life this house feels haunted. I feel like I'm revering a ghost."

"Eric…" Kyle whispered. His voice was a lamenting spirit itself. A troubling thought, Eric didn't wish the same fate for Kyle.

"I'm telling you all this because we shouldn't feel sorry for ourselves. Yes, what I did for my mother, and what you're doing for your father may be noble but your actions will fester in the end. Your father's bitterness will be passed down to you, and you deserve better, Kyle. You deserve to be happy."

The crease in Kyle's brow returned, and his stare hardened.

"So, what?" he replied. "You're just saying I should put my own needs first? Forget about my father? He's done so much for me, Eric, and I owe him  _something_! I could never be so selfish!"

"You don't owe him anything for taking care of you!" Eric argued. "For raising you! The bond between a parent and a child is unconditional, even if we both know it doesn't always feel that way. You've said that you can't stand the future he wants for you! His happiness will come at a cost, and you know it."

Kyle sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Of course I do. But I still don't understand what you're trying to say."

"I'm imploring you to be considerate, and brave, and… careful," Eric replied, looking into Kyle's eyes. "I'm a cautionary tale, Kyle. It would be a wretched thing if you were to become like me."

Eric knew he may have offended him. He could tell by Kyle's wide, wet eyes and parted lips that he was reeling from all he had told him. He started to slowly nod.

"I will be all of those things," he whispered.

Eric nodded too, wishing to compose himself. He was rather shaken as well; in disbelief at all he had shared today.

"Good…" he murmured.

"Eric, I'm so sorry for what happened to you," Kyle said, leaning forward.

Eric nodded, he was sorry too, sorry for all that he should have done but he was still trying to find himself. He wouldn't be sorry for much longer, he was determined.

"And I'm grateful… not just for your advice but for listening to me and sharing what you did," Kyle added, smiling now. "I feel like I know you so much better."

"I'm glad," Eric replied, directing a small smile at Kyle. "Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back-story always seems to equal angst in my fics. Still, this was one of my favourite chapters to write so far! I hope you guys enjoyed it too, thank you so much for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this chapter is super short, it was also one of my favourites to write and I hope you guys enjoy it too! Thank you for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Kyle barely lifted his head from yet another book as he entered his bedroom, flicking through the pages in anticipation. He'd discovered so many brilliant novels in the library that he didn't know where to start. A pile was already beginning to grow by his bed.

"What do you have there?"

Kyle jolted at the sound of Bebe's voice. His cheeks warmed when he looked up and met her knowing eyes. The more time he spent here, the more he could read eyes that once seemed so blank and lifeless, porcelain and wooden.

" _Wuthering Heights_  by Emily Bronte," he replied. "I've wanted to read it for a while now. I hope Eric likes it too."

"I'm so glad you're getting along with the master now, Kyle," Bebe said with a grateful sigh. "We told you he's not as cruel as he seems."

"Yes, well, you were right," Kyle replied as he sat on his bed, sighing too. "Although I wish I hadn't reacted the way I did when I first came here. All of this was such a huge surprise. I think I was in shock."

"It's easily done, I don't blame you for being scared of him. But you're settled in now, that's what matters."

"Oh, definitely." Kyle nodded. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he came here. Perhaps that was just another ability this magic house possessed? To manipulate time all out of proportion? "I don't feel scared at all. In fact…"

"Yes?"

"I feel welcome, like I belong here," Kyle continued, a smile spreading across his face. "I never thought I would enjoy spending time with Eric, but I do! And I'm so intrigued by him! Of course, I always was, but… even though I've always been curious about this place, about him, I don't fear the answers anymore. Sometimes I think he does…"

"Why's that?"

"I think he's afraid of his past," Kyle answered. "He's only brave enough to give me mere glimpses of his life before I came here, and that's fine, but I wish I could know for sure."

"He's a strange fellow," Bebe assured. "Just be patient and he'll tell you soon enough."

Kyle nodded, expecting the answer. "I suppose. Bebe…"

"Yes?"

Although Kyle only possessed the aforementioned glimpses of Eric's life he was still trying to piece together, an extraordinary picture was starting to form, bright and clarifying – especially when he now knew so much more about Eric's family. Kyle had left the sitting room that evening believing that Eric was the forgotten master of Tenorman Hall. It was a bewildering realisation, and seemed like such a fantastical notion, but the only explanation that made sense.

Still, he was reluctant to accept his theory until he heard the confession from Eric, and the last thing Kyle wanted to do was upset him by pressing the issue. All of the staff were so loyal to their master too, so concerned with preservation. They would protect the secrets of this house to their graves. To Kyle, Bebe was the exception. She was the first friend he had made here, was a brilliant confidante, had cared as much about Kyle's wellbeing as her duty to her master. Maybe she would be willing to divulge something? To put Kyle's mind at ease once and for all?

"Kyle?" she asked again. "What is it?

Kyle took a bracing breath. "You've mentioned past lives before-"

They were interrupted by the discordant noise of bashing piano keys, and a furious roar. Kyle flinched, looked to Bebe for an explanation, for reassurance, but she appeared just as frightened as Kyle was. Immediately he hopped off the bed and ran out of the room. The wild, distressed melody with the roaring leitmotif continued, and Kyle almost fell down the stairs as he rushed to put an end to it. He was panting and trembling by the time he reached the sitting room, throwing open the doors to find Eric's huge form hunched over the piano. He was seething, his back rising and falling.

"Eric…" Kyle whispered, making his way over to the piano. "Eric, what's wrong? What are you doing?"

Stood beside Eric now, Kyle realised he had mistaken sniffling for seething. Eventually, Eric lifted his head to reveal golden eyes brimming with tears. They left Kyle reeling; he had never seen Eric cry before. In fact, he never thought he would. Still, he placed a hand on Eric's back. His fingers were so small on Eric's wide shoulders that he feared his touch would be lost, meaningless. He hoped his voice wouldn't meet the same fate.

"Eric, please tell me," he said softly, his fingers moving in soothing, coaxing circles.

Still sniffling, attempting to collect himself, Eric replied, "I was trying to play the piano. I still remember how to read the sheet music but these bloody paws are getting in the way." He spat out the words and lifted his paws, staring at them reproachfully. "I can't play anything, not like I used to, and what if I can't ever play again?"

Kyle had no idea how to respond, but before he could try Eric blinked and more tears pooled at his long lashes. He ducked his head again, and Kyle's hand began to tremor above Eric's back. He frowned and leaned down, wrapping his arms around Eric. His face was buried in his fur.

"It'll be all right," Kyle whispered. The only thing he could offer. "I promise you, it'll be all right."

He lifted his head but remained close to Eric, stroking his fur.

"But you must not work yourself up over this," he added in a strong, taut voice. "You mustn't dwell… perhaps some fresh air will do you good?" he smiled. "It was lovely being out in the grounds the other day. And perhaps we can have our tea outside this afternoon? Have a picnic? How about that?"

Kyle could feel his smile brighten when Eric looked at him, and he beamed when Eric nodded.

"All right." Kyle nodded in return. "That's what we'll do."

They both turned their heads at the signature squeak of a trolley entering the room. Eric's body stiffened and he turned away immediately.

"Is everything all right in here?" Gregory asked.

"We heard a tremendous noise!" Pip said.

"We thought something terrible had happened!" Butters added.

"No, no, we're fine," Kyle assured, shaking his head. He glanced at Eric. His hand was still on his back. "Actually, we've decided we want to have tea outside today. The weather is beautiful, after all. Would it be possible to have it packed into a picnic basket please?"

The staff glanced at each other, relieved and delighted.

"Yes of course!" Pip replied.

"We'll have that sorted right away," Gregory added.

"Thank you," Kyle smiled, but was thankful when they left the room.

He could feel some of the tension drain away from Eric beneath his fingers, at least it was a start.

* * *

Eric chewed lazily at the sandwiches and scones that were in the basket, glaring at the blanket beneath them as he did so. Still, Kyle held out hope that the bright, cloudless afternoon would inspire some conversation soon - even if he had to initiate it himself. How could the chirping birds signalling summer, and butterflies and bees drifting through the air, not put one in a good mood? He swallowed the last of his scone, licking the strawberry jam off his fingers, and admiring the vibrant summer flowers peeking out over tall grass.

"It really is a wonderful afternoon," he commented. "Summer will be here before we know it! I wish I could stay out here all day."

"Yes, I'm very fond of the grounds," Eric replied. Distant, Kyle noted, but at least he was talking. "They're in desperate need of maintenance… although I would rather spend all night out here than the rest of the day."

"Why?"

Eric's gaze wandered over the grounds. "Because it's dark and nobody can see me. Not even the birds and the insects can see how hideous I am."

Frowning, Kyle shook his head as if to will away the pang in his chest.

"Eric, please, you're not hideous…" he muttered.

"I'm frightful then. Even you were afraid of me when we first met," Eric pointed out.

"Well, yes, but only because I had seen nobody like you before…" Kyle paused when Eric turned his head to look at him, focused and hopeful. It swept away any doubt Kyle had for what he was about to say. "But there is so much more to who you are than how you look, Eric. Your appearance is not the sole thing that defines you, that should never be the case… do you know what the word 'sublime' means?"

Eric's brow furrowed. "Something that is perfect and beautiful."

Kyle smiled and continued. "Yes, and beauty is subjective – in the eye of the beholder and all that – and it also exists on a spectrum. Something that is beautiful can be pretty and quaint, or tantalising and superficial, but when you describe something as sublime it transcends all those things. It's something that is beautifully extraordinary, frighteningly so, like a tiger or a mountain range. Both of those things are dangerous but you can also appreciate the beauty of them."

"If the tiger doesn't rip you apart first," Eric remarked.

And although he feared Eric wasn't quite understanding what he was trying to say, or just simply refusing to listen, Kyle chucked and shook his head despite himself. But he wasn't giving up.

"Did you know that when people rode past the Alps in their carriages they would draw the curtains?" he asked with a smile. "People couldn't bear to look at them because the mountains were so sublime and horrifying. But then the Romantic poets recognised the beauty of the Alps and started writing poems about them. Now I'll bet there isn't a person in the world who wouldn't admire the Alps and be over-awed by them if they saw them in the flesh."

Eric's shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. He shook his head. "But I've hidden for so long. I couldn't bear for anyone else to see me."

Kyle chuckled again, with only mild exasperation. He shifted on the blanket and smiled when Eric slid his gaze to him again.

"But don't you see?" he replied. "I was afraid of you when we first met, but I had to be brave and patient enough to really get to know you. Even you had to be brave, Eric. And I'm so glad that you were because now I can see how generous you are, how intelligent you are, how talented and sensitive you are. Just like those old poets and the Alps, I soon discovered all of your wonderful traits and came to appreciate them." His smile faded into earnestness. "I'm no longer scared, and I hope you're not either."

Kyle heard the taut, heavy thrum of Eric's breathing, saw the startled gleam in his eyes, and thought he might be afraid. But Eric soon shook his head, and Kyle's shoulders slouched in relief.

"Good…" he said with a small nod.

With the buzz of insects in the air, and all the words spoken between them, further conversation hardly felt necessary. In fact, to Kyle it seemed like it would cut short a rather lovely, understanding silence. So instead he smiled shyly and reached for another sandwich from the basket.

"Kyle, I would like to apologise for the way I behaved, the way I treated you, when you first arrived here," Eric suddenly said, the words coming out fast before he slowed down. "You were right, I  _was_  afraid to have someone like you enter my life. I had just been alone for a long time."

Kyle was reeling, and in Eric's kaleidoscopic irises he could see his startled reflection multiplied by what seemed like a hundred. He willed himself to react, nodding. His mouth tugged into a soft smile.

"I know," he replied. "Thank you for your apology."

Eric smiled in return, before delving into the basket once more. They stayed outside, shrouded by unkempt grass and tall, foreboding walls, talking about nothing and everything, until the sky dimmed, and dinner was waiting.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've said this about previous chapters but this was my favourite one to write so far - for obvious reasons! I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I'd love to know your thoughts, and thank you for reading!

Eric had been delighted to wake up the day after the picnic to discover it hadn't all been a dream. Although Kyle's laughter, his thoughtful conversation, his glinting smile, and the way he read to him after dinner with the fire illuminating his face had certainly haunted Eric in his sleep. Of course he knew what this meant, as alien and dizzying as it was. And he wasted no time in gathering the staff together before Kyle could wake for breakfast. He needed to inform them of his marvellous day spent with Kyle, even so he could just relive it.

"…You should have heard all that he was saying! He said I was intelligent, and sensitive,  _generous_ , even!"

"That's wonderful, sir!" Butters replied.

"Giving him the library seems to be paying off, eh?" Kenny added cheekily.

"Now, the master didn't  _give_ Kyle the library," Gregory corrected. "He simply opened it up again."

"And I'm sure that's not the  _only_  reason Kyle is growing fond of the master," Kelly added.

"Oh, of course," Kenny replied, he hardly ever disagreed with Kelly. He sidled up to her."Who needs libraries or even arms to be good company?"

Kelly giggled at Kenny's low, husky tone.

Meanwhile, Gregory tutted. "Please, you two…"

"Let the master finish!" Christophe added.

Eric nodded at him appreciatively, before he continued; "And he said he isn't afraid of me anymore!"

The staff all began to chatter amongst themselves, not that Eric minded since he was hoping his news would rouse such delight.

"Sir, this is so exciting!" Pip spoke up.

"What does it all mean?" Christophe asked, and everybody fell silent.

Eric looked to the floor, he knew what it meant. As soon as the realisation struck him he knew it to be true. It was undeniable, intrinsic, leaving him terrified and euphoric at the same time. Kyle may have even described it as a sublime feeling, and Eric smiled just at the thought of him.

"I think it means I'm falling in love with him," he finally answered. He shook his head, suddenly self-conscious. "I know it may seem hasty but-"

"Never mind that, sir!" Kenny interrupted.

"Time is of the essence!" Gregory added.

Kelly squealed. "Oh, it's wonderful!"

"You must tell him," Christophe said, serious and blunt as usual.

The words sent a shiver down Eric's spine.

"But will he say it back?" he asked."I know he's fond of me now, but love…"

"You'll never know unless you tell him how you feel, sir," Kenny remarked.

"Precisely!" Gregory replied, before composing himself. "Forgive me, sir, but it's crucial that you know… for all of us."

Eric sighed and shook his head. "I couldn't bear it if he rejected me…"

"But what if he doesn't reject you?" Gregory asked.

"The odds are certainly in your favour, sir," Kenny chimed in.

Gregory shuffled forward. "Don't you want to find out?"

Deep inside him, Eric knew he  _had_  to find out. As a child, his nanny had occasionally tutted and called him 'demanding', accusing him of 'always keeping on'. His mother chose a different tact, holding his shoulders as she beamed down at him, praising him for not giving up on anything so easily. Even if he had to cry and scream to get what he wanted, at least he was trying. Of course, Eric could hardly revert to such childish tactics now, but he also knew that he couldn't keep wondering what Kyle felt for him. He had to know.

"Yes," Eric replied."Yes, of course I do… all right, I'll tell him after dinner."

As the staff cheered, it was easy for Eric to become invigorated by their excitement even if he knew a potential rejection was in the offing. A rejection that would devastate all of them. How could Eric not be anxious when so much was at stake?

* * *

Eric hardly ate at dinner, and he was struggling to concentrate as Kyle read another chapter of  _Wuthering Heights_. His thoughts all day had been concerned with how best to confess his love for Kyle, agonising over where, and when. He was too afraid to seize any moment, any dip in conversation. But he couldn't bear to leave it until tomorrow. He couldn't bear a sleepless night. He flinched when Kyle yawned softly, staring into the fire with lidded eyes.

"Are you tired?" Eric asked.

Kyle turned his head, like he had been caught out for his fatigue.

"No, not really," He replied. "Why?"

"N-n-no reason!" Eric answered abruptly, fidgeting in his seat."I was just…" his eyes wandered the room, and spied the dusty, forgotten gramophone behind the door. "I was just, uh, wondering if you'd like to dance."

Kyle blinked, tried to respond but surprised chuckles fell out of his mouth instead.

"Dance?" he asked."How? There's no music."

Eric smiled and stood up, the most confident and assured he felt all evening. He crossed the room.

"Haven't you noticed the gramophone before?"

He was sure he hadn't imagined the gleam in Kyle's eyes; intrigued but anxious. Kyle laughed and shook his head. Eric reached for a record, blowing the dust off it and placing it on the gramophone.

"These may be rather old but…"

The music started, grasping his heart and it ached with nostalgia. But when he turned to Kyle that ache began to subside.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, extending a shaking paw.

Kyle's shoulders rose and fell, and Eric swore he heard a taut, faint breath. It comforted him somewhat, that Kyle appeared just as nervous and shy as he was, especially when a tiny smile was still present on his face.

"But I… I, I don't know how-"

"Well, I do," Eric cut in. "I'll teach you."

Kyle pursed his lips, considering the offer, before nodding and rising from his chair. He met Eric across the room with silent, cautious steps. But his hand was firm and unwavering when it held Eric's paw, holding him steady. Eric held Kyle as gently as he could, lifting his arm and Kyle followed. In his mind he was a teenager again, on summer lawns, and in lavish Christmas parties. When his mother had encouraged him to dance with the daughters of her friends whose names escaped Eric now. It wasn't necessary, of course, this quaint waltz, but families like Eric still liked to pretend that outdated courting rituals like these still meant something. They never meant anything to Eric, and nerves never got the better of him. He was simply appeasing his mother. Now, it meant everything to him. Kyle was as bewitching as any young, coy socialite if not more so, and represented a future and fortune far more tantalising and tangible.

Eric was just glad he still remembered the steps. Instinctively he reached out to place his paw on Kyle's side, just above his waist. It was an action that had felt as hollow as the giggles of his previous dance partners. But his touch, weighted with fur and claws and desire felt so much more affecting now, and Kyle was too precious to hurt, or to startle.

"Do you mind if I-"

Kyle shook his head before Eric could finish.

"Not at all," he smiled.

Eric smiled too and placed his hand on Kyle's side. He felt the warmth of his body even underneath his shirt.

"Now, just put your hand on my upper arm," Eric instructed.

Kyle obeyed, reaching up and holding on.

"And just follow me."

They tentatively began to dance a slow, shuffling waltz, not the sweeping, exuberant dances Eric remembered. He wished they could have done this in the hall, where they had more room to move. But Eric supposed this was fine, for the drawing room was intimate, and cosy, and a place where he and Kyle had already shared so much. It was fitting for Eric to tell Kyle how he felt right here. Kyle was smiling at the floor, his eyes on his feet, and Eric was happy to admire him silently. But Kyle must have felt the weight of his stare, for he soon met his eyes, and when Kyle was smiling up at him, it was like the full extent of Eric's love washed over him.

Reeling from the force of it all, he whispered; "you're beautiful."

"Pardon?"

Eric froze, the words had drifted out of his mouth before he even realised it. But he soon recognised this as his chance to tell Kyle he loved him. He couldn't deny it.

"I said you're beautiful," he replied. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met."

Kyle's eyes widened and colour rushed to his face immediately. He looked away as if he could disguise it.

"Thank you, Eric," he said softly. "Nobody has ever called me beautiful before-"

"Well, that's a terrible shame," Eric interrupted, and Kyle's eyes were still wide when they returned to look at him. "Because you are, Kyle. You're extraordinary, really, you're… kind, and you're smart, and the greatest person I know. Nobody has ever made me as happy as you do."

Smiling and growing redder, Kyle's eyes searched Eric's face and chuckled limply. Daring to squeeze his hand a little tighter, Eric pulled Kyle closer to him and looked into his eyes.

"Kyle, I love you."

Kyle's wandering gaze finally stopped, and he stiffened in Eric's arms.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I love you," Eric repeated, and he adored how it sounded. For a moment, he wasn't afraid of the words anymore."I'm in love with you, Kyle. Don't you love me too?"

Kyle's eyes resumed their restless movement and Eric knew his thoughts were probably just as feverish. He wilted, letting Kyle go when he began to back away. Suddenly he was scared again, when his arms were bereft of Kyle.

"Eric, I don't… I don't know what to say, I, I, I'm certainly very fond of you," Kyle said, his breathing was coming faster."In fact, I'm fonder of you than I've ever been of anyone but I can't say for certain that it's love – romantic love, like you're suggesting. I've never been in love before. I have no idea what it feels like-"

"But I had never been in love either until I met you," Eric interjected, stepping forward.

His hopeful, naïve tone seemed pathetic under Kyle's conflicted stare. He felt his lip curl in a snarl, frustrated not with Kyle but at himself for being so foolish, so reckless. The humiliation was stifling, but the fear even more so. That perfect future, that dazzling fortune seemed to be crumbling down on him like this decaying house and, once again, it was all his fault.

"Damn it!" he roared, and he saw Kyle flinch when he stopped the record. "I knew I shouldn't have told you!" he threw his paws up in the air, not looking at Kyle as he paced. "But they all kept insisting that I should! You were supposed to fall in love with me too! You were supposed to break the spell, but I've ruined it! I've frightened you and I've ruined it all again!"

"Ruined what?" Kyle asked, shrill and scared. He walked over to Eric and asked lowly, "Eric, what are you talking about?"

Panting, and with tears stinging his eyes, Eric realised that perhaps he had skipped too far ahead. Maybe Kyle had needed to hear another confession first.

"I have to show you something, Kyle."

* * *

Their footsteps had seemed louder when they walked to Eric's bedroom in silence. Kyle hadn't asked any questions along the way, but Eric wished he had. He needed to know how Kyle was feeling, if he hated him, or was afraid of him again. Eric shuddered at the thought.

When they reached his bedroom, Eric opened the door and stepped aside. He wanted Kyle to go in first, but when he looked at him he saw his hands shaking at his sides. For the first time since Kyle arrived here, he appeared small and uncertain in the huge house. Finally, he stepped inside. His slow, quiet steps eventually quickened as he studied the room, his fascination easing him in.

"I've never been in here before," Kyle commented, looking over his shoulder at Eric.

"I'm aware," Eric replied, shutting the door behind him. "I didn't want you to know…"

"Know what?"

Kyle stood still, holding Eric's gaze and searching for answers. Eric sighed, crossing the room to where the wilting rose was kept; a plain glass jar beneath the window though it didn't require sunlight. It required something elusive and rare to find in this deserted manor. Kyle gasped upon seeing it, transfixed on the floating flower and the wilted petals below it that still shimmered with charred iridescence.

"This is what I had to show you, Kyle." Eric felt he had to say something.

"Who gave you this?"

"An enchantress…" Eric paused when Kyle looked at him, only mildly puzzled. Eric supposed nothing could surprise Kyle in this house anymore."You see, I wasn't always like this. I was born a human, an aristocrat, but ten years ago a poor, old woman came to my door. It was winter, and she needed shelter for the night… my mother had died only a few months ago. I was bitter, and selfish, and not exactly in the right frame of mind to entertain guests who were beneath me, who didn't deserve my hospitality – or so I thought at the time. She offered me a beautiful rose – this one, if you can believe it – but I threw it on the ground and ordered her to leave. But she didn't. She transformed into an enchantress and cursed me and all the staff. She turned me into what I am today. She told me that if I didn't find somebody who I could love and who could love me in return by the time the last petal falls, I would remain this way forever."

Kyle stepped back, lips parted and eyes flitting back and forth.

"I… I knew it," he said, voice just above a whisper. "You're the son who everyone thought had disappeared."

"Yes," Eric replied, hanging his head. "Yes, I am."

"Oh, oh God." Kyle ran a trembling hand through his hair. "I don't know what to say… then how did I come to be here? How do you know my father?"

Eric gulped, he was terrified of that question but he couldn't lie to Kyle anymore. He shook his head.

"I don't, not really," he replied. "Kyle, perhaps you should sit."

Kyle nodded, empty and bewildered. He studied the room before quickly finding Eric's plump bed. He sat on it and waited for Eric to continue. Eric had no choice now, he had to speak.

"I only met your father the day before you arrived here. It was evening, and I was taking a walk around the grounds. I heard somebody knocking on the door and decided to hide until they left. But I saw your father picking one of the roses from the bush and reprimanded him for stealing. He was very frightened, and begged me to spare his life. He said he had a son, and that he would do anything. I…" Eric closed his eyes briefly and sighed. "I saw an opportunity. I told him to bring his son here, to work here, although I had no intention of employing you. I hoped that one day we would fall in love. I never anticipated it happening so soon. Although as you can see by the rose-"

Eric paused to glance at the flower, and Kyle followed him.

"I can't afford to waste time," he continued. He stepped forward, reaching his paw out in tentative imploration. "But now I see how cruel that was of me, to do that to you. Before it had never mattered but I care so much about you, Kyle, and it devastates me to think I may have hurt you in some way. I'm so dreadfully sorry, is there any way you could forgive me?"

Kyle's gaze was preoccupied, but Eric could see that his eyes were gleaming. His shoulders were rising and falling with rapid, reeling breaths. Eventually, he nodded, and Eric could've sank to the floor in relief.

"Yes… Eric, of course I can forgive you," he replied. "You were desperate, and you didn't know me then. If I was in your situation I may have done the same thing. "

"Kyle, you have no idea how relieved I am," Eric said, sitting next to Kyle. "I would never want to hurt you."

"I know you wouldn't." Kyle nodded, before taking a shattered breath and lowering his head. "I thought I knew the same thing of my father too."

"What do you mean?"

"How could he do this to me?!" Kyle demanded, leaping up from the bed.

"I told him I wouldn't hurt you-"

"But why should he have trusted you?" Kyle cut Eric off, pacing in front of him. "Why should he have used my life as a bargaining chip? Like I'm worthless! How was he to know that you wouldn't have hurt me? Killed me, even! I just wish I could know what on Earth he was thinking! I wish he was in front of me right now so I could demand answers!" Kyle's body sagged and he rolled his eyes. "As if I've ever had the nerve to do such a thing…"

He returned to the bed, burying his head in his hands. Eric frowned and gently placed his paw on Kyle's back, remembering how Kyle had done that to him the day previously. He hoped it would rouse the same comfort, although that wasn't the only method Eric had at his disposal.

"Well, you may not be able to confront him but you can see him," he offered.

"How do you mean?" Kyle asked, lifting his head.

Eric reached for the silver mirror on his bedside table and handed it to Kyle.

"It was my mother's," Eric explained, watching Kyle run his fingers over the frame. "When the enchantress cursed me, she cursed the rest of the house as well. If you hold it and tell the mirror what you'd like to see, it'll show it to you."

Kyle raised a questioning eyebrow at him, but Eric nodded at him in encouragement.

Clearing his throat, Kyle said; "I would like to see my father, please."

Eric leaned over to look into the glass, and saw Kyle's reflection twist into a dark, rainy landscape. The rain pelted down on miserable, underfed chickens, their feathers matted with mud. When he glanced at Kyle, he winced at his disconcerted expression. Like they were viewing Kyle's home through a phantom's eye, the mirror took Eric and Kyle inside a dim cottage; a kitchen where a sink was brimming with grimy dishes, a living room coated in dust, a desk covered in scattered, crumpled papers.

"The house…" Kyle murmured. "It's dreadful."

He then gasped at the image of his father, tossing and turning in bed before shuddering with tears. Kyle pursed his lips and shook his head, turning away from the image.

"Damn it…" he muttered, thrusting the mirror into Eric's chest and burying his head in hands once more.

Eric held the mirror close to him, and regarded Kyle warily.

"Are you all right?" Eric hated the question as soon as he asked it.

Kyle shook his head, looking up and revealing his pained face.

"I don't know," he replied. "I have no idea what I'm feeling. I don't think I've felt this confused since I came here, I…"

Kyle stood up again, grabbed his hair in two fistfuls and began to pace.

"Seeing him there, restless and upset, I could have forgotten what he did," he continued. "He's my father, of course I still feel care for him, of course when I see him like that I can't help but feel worried. I've been here, having picnics, and pouring over books, and talking to furniture, while he's been struggling! Eric, being here with you I've never been happier but I still miss him. I miss him so much, and oh God, what am I even doing when there's still so much I have to take care of back home! I could have forgotten all my responsibilities…"

Eric nodded, ran his claw over the mirror's etchings. "I, I, I understand…"

"But then…" Kyle covered his face with his hands for a moment. "Oh God, I couldn't even say it."

"What?" Eric asked, eyes following Kyle as he paced. "Kyle, tell me."

Kyle pursed his lips, and crossed his arms around his chest, holding himself steady.

"Seeing him like that, I felt this peculiar, twisted satisfaction," he replied. "Like, as if, after all these years of him giving me orders, making me feel guilty for what we don't have, moulding my life as he sees fit without giving me any say, and placing the responsibility of our future happiness on my shoulders… that's what I needed to see. I needed to see him suffering without me." He shook his head and looked to the ceiling. "How appalling! What kind of son am I?"

"A good son," Eric answered, firm. "Kyle, you're a tremendous son. In fact, he doesn't deserve you."

"Then why has he never told me that?" Kyle demanded, throwing his arms at his sides and glaring at Eric like he knew the answer."Why am I not enough? He clearly doesn't want me if he can cart me off to a stranger without a second thought!"

Kyle choked on a breath, his body shuddering as he began to sob. Placing the mirror on the bed, Eric rushed to comfort him. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around Kyle, not wanting to hurt him. But Kyle didn't care, welcoming the embrace and burying his face in Eric's chest. His heart tremored at Kyle's muffled sobs, and he didn't mind the wetness of his tears. Eric just wished he could say something, do something more to make Kyle feel better.

"You should get some rest, Kyle," he finally said. "Let me take you to your room-"

"No," Kyle cut in, lifting his head and patting at his damp face. "No, I want to stay here. Can I please stay here tonight?"

Eric blinked, stunned, but nodded.

"Of course," he replied. "Of course you can."

Kyle smiled weakly, and rested his head on Eric's chest.

"Thank you… " he said, his soft voice making Eric bristle.

* * *

They were both still awake hours later, lying over the sheets and facing each other. Eric could feel his eyelids droop, the exhausting night weighing down on him. But he would stay awake as long as Kyle needed him to; to protect him, to reassure him. They hadn't talked for a while, but their eyes found each other in the dark, aided by the moonlight shining through the thin curtains.

"Are you afraid of what will happen when the last petal falls?" Kyle asked.

"No," Eric whispered. It was the first time he was saying it aloud. "Not anymore."

"When did you stop being afraid?"

Admiring Kyle, Eric realised it was when he discovered some things were more important.

"Tonight," he replied. "I realised that even if you'll never fall in love with me, and if I remain this way forever, I will be happy just to have known you. I will always want you to be in my life."

Kyle smiled, a crescent moon, and shifted closer. Eric felt the sheets tug beneath him, and Kyle's fingers clutching his fur.

"I will always be here," Kyle murmured, eyes closing. "I promise."


	12. Chapter 12

The following morning Eric was awoken by the sound of clumsy knocking at his bedroom door. He grumbled, his body stiff and lethargic as he sat upright. The daylight was startling, making him wince, but his irritation melted when he saw Kyle lying next to him. He had turned away from him in the night, but Eric found as much beauty in watching his shoulders gently rise and fall. It even made him forget about the incessant knocking.

"Sir!" Gregory called. "Sir! Is everything all right?"

"He never sleeps in this late..." Christophe commented.

Eric watched Kyle stir, and when he rolled over to face him his curls were wayward and his eyes were bleary from his interrupted sleep.

"Is that Gregory?" he asked, voice slightly hoarse.

"Yes," Eric replied. "And Christophe..."

He marched over to the door and threw it open.

"What do you want?"

Christophe was peering behind Eric's leg, while Gregory attempted to speak, startled.

"Forgive us, sir, but we noticed you had yet to wake up and we didn't see you last night to ask how it went with Kyle-"

"Gregory!" Christophe interrupted.

"What is it?" he asked, before peering into the bedroom too. He jolted when he saw Kyle, sat up in bed and listening to the conversation.

"Oh... Oh, I'm terribly sorry, sir!" he said. "Good morning, Kyle!"

"Good morning," Kyle replied.

Gregory wrung his metal hands as he spoke. "Sir, if we had known we would have never-"

"Oh, calm down!" Christophe chimed in. "Nothing happened! We would all be human if they had-"

"Kyle and I will be down for breakfast shortly so please see to it that it is ready, Gregory," Eric ordered in an attempt to subdue his own embarrassment.

"Right away, sir!" Gregory replied, clearly grateful. "My sincerest apologies again."

Eric was glad to shut the door, although it didn't make his discomfort go away. But Kyle's shy laughter did, infectious and emboldening. Eric smiled at him, approaching the bed slowly.

"Sorry about them..."

"It's fine," Kyle replied, tracing the creases in the sheets with his finger. "How are you feeling?"

Eric sighed, searching for the words. Content, now that he had someone in his life that he loved, and who cared for him too. Fearless, now that his priorities had realigned.

"Marvellous." He smiled. "And yourself?"

"All right, I suppose," he replied. He looked at the sheets plaintively.

"Are you sure?" Eric asked, his smile fading. He sat on the edge of the bed. "What is it?"

Kyle shook his head. "Nothing, nothing..."

Perhaps it was due to how long they had stayed awake talking last night, but Kyle looked exhausted. His face was pale and his eyes were heavy, as if the confessions and realisations of the previous night had worn him out.

"Well, maybe your spirits will lift after breakfast?"

Kyle looked up at Eric and nodded, a tight smile appearing on his face.

"Yes, perhaps..."

* * *

Kyle barely spoke at breakfast, so when – at the end of the meal – he said he wanted to spend some time in the library, Eric didn't protest. He was just glad that Kyle was finally talking, and hoped that some time alone in undoubtedly his favourite room in the house would cheer him up.

Afternoon was now dulling into evening, and Kyle was still in the library. It felt strange for Eric now, to wander around the house without Kyle to engage in conversation, to have tea by himself in the sitting room. Of course, he conversed with the staff but they couldn't compare to Kyle's bright inquisitiveness, or his witty remarks. They couldn't duplicate the twinned clatter of china teacups that Eric had now grown so used to. Besides, Kyle's absence exacerbated Eric's concern. What if he had been sobbing all day by himself while Eric had remained oblivious? He tried to remind himself that Kyle perhaps wanted some solitude, but he could have equally wanted some comfort as well.

Thus, he found himself waiting outside the door to the library, willing himself to knock. He could never be gentle, he realised, as his small knock still made the door thud and shake.

"Kyle?"

"Yes?"

Eric's shoulders slouched in relief at hearing Kyle's voice.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Of course you can."

Eric opened the door gingerly, and saw Kyle lounging on the leather settee. His legs were outstretched, his one foot dangling off the side. One arm was propped up on the back cushion, while his other hand was placed over the book resting on his chest. Although Eric supposed the book had been unread for quite a while, for Kyle was preoccupied with staring out of the window. He soon slid his gaze over to Eric, however, and it was distant and heavy.

"Hello..."

"I wanted to check on you," Eric replied, fidgety. "See how you were feeling."

His words roused a crooked half-smile that didn't reach Kyle's eyes.

"That's very kind."

Searching Kyle's face for any guidance as to what he should do, Eric took slow, cautious steps towards him.

"Is there anything on your mind?" he asked.

Kyle sighed, sitting up straighter.

"My father," he replied. "I can't stop thinking about him. I hardly slept last night because I couldn't get that image of him out of my head."

Eric bowed his head and nodded. He should have known, and he started to wonder if he should have told Kyle about his father's actions in the first place.

"I still need to know... why did he do this?" Kyle continued. " _How_  could he have done this to his only son? But then, I think about how distressed he was when I saw him in the mirror and such things seem trivial. I should hate him for lying to me, for being so careless and selfish, and a part of me does... but I hated seeing the house like that. I dreamt about it all night. Whatever I feel, he still needs me. I still have to be there, but how could I ever go back and live with him when I resent him so much? But I must do  _something_..."

"Do you have any idea what that is?"

Kyle pursed his lips, and his eyes suddenly gleamed.

"A vague idea, I suppose," he replied. "But the thought is too painful."

Eric frowned, his heart aching already for the decision Kyle would have to make. Kyle would be sacrificing a great deal either way, and Eric didn't know if he could live without Kyle, or with knowing that Kyle would forever be yearning for a compromise that was impossible. He wanted to make it better, but he couldn't. He didn't know what on Earth he should do. He knelt down beside Kyle, saw his reflection swimming in Kyle's eyes, as well as so much weary, fractured strength in the man he loved.

"You mustn't hurt yourself, Kyle," he said. "Whatever your decision, you mustn't put yourself through that."

Kyle snickered ruefully, and pressed his wrists to his eyes.

"Whatever decision I make, I won't have a choice but to hurt someone," he replied. "It's inevitable."

* * *

The silence was stifling at dinner. Eric played with his food mindlessly, more concerned with Kyle at the other end of the table. Whenever he looked up from his meal, he saw that Kyle's plate remained untouched. His gaze was rooted to his cooling meal, and he moved his fork across the plate as if he were etching a crude strategy in the sand. There was no doubt what was on his mind, and Eric wished Kyle would voice his concerns, and his fears. But he supposed Kyle was just as timid as he was about broaching the subject. Like a curse, it was almost as if the pain didn't exist if the necessary words weren't said aloud, and Eric knew a lot about those.

But what was the alternative? For Kyle to be miserable the rest of his life and resent Eric too? Perhaps Eric couldn't bear the thought of Kyle leaving him, but he couldn't be responsible for extinguishing the light that had flooded the house, his life, when Kyle arrived here. Eric would never forgive himself if Kyle faded quietly into the peeling wallpaper, another cherished ghost to haunt this crumbling manor. Kyle's misery wouldn't be a product of Eric's selfishness, not again.

"Perhaps you should go back to your father..."

The words, though gentle, echoed in the dining room. Kyle raised his head and set his knife and fork down.

"What?"

Eric took a shattering breath. He felt his heart clench, gripping the words close to him so he wouldn't have to say them again.

"I said, perhaps you should go back to your father." Eric saw Kyle's brow furrow, and he explained, "I would love for you to stay here, Kyle, but your father needs you and I know you need to help him too. I would only want you to stay with me if you felt happy here-"

"But I do," Kyle cut in, leaning forward. "I do feel happy here, Eric."

_For now._

As much as Eric wanted to believe Kyle, he knew his loyalty to his father was ingrained into his heart.

"Would you really be happy knowing that you were leaving your father behind?" he asked. "I would hate for you to feel guilty staying with me. You cannot feel this way forever, Kyle."

Kyle's eyes wandered the room as he considered what Eric was offering him.

"But what would happen to you?" he asked. "The curse, I... I promised you I would always be here."

"And I told you that I would be content to remain a beast forever as long as I had you in my life," Eric replied, surer than he had ever been. "But I've come to realise I would be just as content to know that you were happy, even without me."

Kyle's lips parted as if to respond, but he glanced at his lap instead. Meeting Eric's eyes across the table, he said; "I don't know if I'll ever be happy if I'm not with you..."

Eric choked on the lump in his throat. He desperately sought for compromise in the sacrifice he had made.

"Well, you can always visit," he said.

Kyle was smiling, crinkled at the edges when his eyes grew wetter.

"Thank you. Thank you for being so incredibly understanding, Eric," he replied. "But how will I get home?"

"We have a car." Eric nodded. "It hasn't been driven in years but it should get you home. Kenny will take a look at it. It will give him a chance to be a handyman again."

Eric heard the sound of bubbling laughter, and smiled when Kyle shook his head in fond exasperation.

"You have no idea how much I will miss you," Kyle confessed, tone soft and gaze piercing.

Eric nodded, his vision blurry. A tear splashed on the table.

* * *

Kyle's departure was announced after breakfast, and although Eric had winced at how the staff glanced at each other, crestfallen, he admired their insistence in helping Kyle prepare to leave in any way they could. Questions would surely be asked, but Eric couldn't bear to answer them now. He would wait until Kyle left. He wanted to spend whatever time they had left together without fretting for the future, mourning what was soon to be gone.

But every word spoken, every breath taken, was wistful and when Kyle suggested he should get on with packing his bags Eric didn't protest. Only when Kyle tried to return the library books to Eric did he do that. Eric insisted he keep those, even  _Wuthering Heights_ though they had yet to reach the end. He watched from the bedroom window as Kyle drove the car from the garage out onto the pebbly driveway, and assisted Kenny in tinkering about with it.

The day was waning now, and Kyle would have to leave soon before it was too dark. Sighing and hanging his head, Eric knocked on Kyle's bedroom door.

"Yes?"

"Kyle, are you ready?"

"Yes, come in, I'm just saying goodbye to Bebe."

Eric opened the door, and saw Kyle holding his bags. He was standing in front of Bebe, smiling at her with tight lips and wet eyes. Bebe jittered, choking on the sensation of tears.

"Thank you, Bebe, for being so welcoming when I first arrived here, for talking to me, for listening to me. You've been such a wonderful friend and I... I hope I can see you again someday very soon."

"Oh, me too," Bebe replied. "It's been lovely to have some company but I could never have hoped to meet someone as marvellous as you... now would be a brilliant time to cry, wouldn't it?"

Kyle laughed, short and knowing before his tears got the better of him. He pressed his wrists to his eyes, before hesitantly reaching out. His fingers brushed Bebe's side and Eric could see her relax under Kyle's touch.

"Goodbye, Bebe."

"Goodbye, Kyle."

Kyle smiled at her once more, before making his way over to Eric and nodding to indicate he was ready. Eric nodded in return, and Kyle waved at Bebe before he left the room. The door clicked softly shut. Before they descended the stairs, Eric and Kyle exchanged bracing looks. They walked slowly, and soon saw the staff waiting in the hall.

"The car is all ready for you, Kyle," Kenny said when they reached the last step. "I hope you're not planning on driving too far though, I couldn't do anything about the rust."

Kyle laughed and shook his head.

"It's only a short drive. Thank you, Kenny."

"You're welcome."

"Thank you to you all," Kyle said, smiling at each of the staff. "You made this house feel like a second home to me."

"Must you go, Kyle?" Butters asked, shuffling forward.

Kyle closed his eyes briefly, as if he were preparing himself for the answer.

"I'm afraid so." He nodded. "I'm needed somewhere else. But I will visit, regularly I hope."

"Then we look forward to seeing you again," Gregory replied, forever gracious.

Soon, Eric felt Kyle's gaze on him and all the words that needed to be said. Eric had remained silent, tried to appear dignified and understanding.

"We'll give you some privacy," Christophe suggested.

"Thank you," Kyle replied with a nod.

The chorus of goodbyes from the staff washed over Eric, but then silence returned to him and Kyle in the grand, imposing hall. The place they had first met. Kyle chuckled limply, shaking his head.

"I've said so many goodbyes today, and I still don't know what to say-"

Eric threw his arms around Kyle, clasping him close. Kyle's body was stiff at first, but he soon welcomed the embrace, his arms wrapped around Eric too.

"I suppose if I can thank my father for one thing..." Kyle paused on a stuttering breath. His voice was thick. "It's for giving me the chance to meet you."

Eric pulled away, stared into Kyle's gleaming eyes.

"The pleasure was all mine," he replied, wavering too. "I will never forget you, Kyle."

"I will never forget you either."

Kyle pursed his lips, the flush rising on his face. Eric lowered his head. He knew if he continued to look at Kyle it would elicit tears from him too.

"Eric, I'm... I'm sorry I couldn't be what you needed me to be."

Eric looked up, disbelieving.

"Why are you apologising to me?" he asked. "There is nothing to apologise for, Kyle, if anything, I should-"

"No, don't," Kyle cut in, stepping forward. He smiled. "Like you said, there is no need."

They were drawn into each other's arms again, and Eric wanted to hold Kyle close and memorise the feel of him to ensure he would never forget it. Even if he succumbed to the most animalistic part of himself, even if the last of his humanity wilted, he would still remember Kyle in his embrace, in his house, in his heart.

"I should go now," Kyle whispered, pulling away.

Eric nodded, unsure, and let him go.

Kyle picked up his bags, staring at Eric, and he could hardly breathe as he waited for Kyle to say something.

"Goodbye, Eric. I'll see you again."

Eric nodded again. What was he hoping for?

"Goodbye, Kyle."

Kyle opened the door, the daylight pouring in. He seemed to fit so seamlessly with the cloudy sky, the wild flowers, and the birdsong. How could he ever be parted from them? Eric belonged to the shadows now, but he felt brave enough to step into the light.

"I love you."

Kyle looked over his shoulder, surprised.

"I'm sorry," Eric added. "But I had to tell you before you left."

A smile spread across Kyle's face, melting Eric's nerves completely.

"Don't apologise," he replied. "I would have liked to hear it again."

With one last lingering stare, Kyle walked to the car. Eric watched him put his bags in the boot before making his way to the door. When Kyle met his eyes, his vibrant hair was fluttering in the breeze and he shot Eric a final smile. Too soon Kyle disappeared into the car, and the frail engine started to rumble. Eric saw Kyle wave and he returned it, his paw shaking.

He stood frozen in the doorway, eyes following the car down the drive. The magical gates swung open and Kyle disappeared from his sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're entering the final act now, with only four more chapters to go! I'll be sure to update as speedily as I can. In the meantime, I hope you guys have enjoyed and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this latest chapter! Thank you so much for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

Kyle could hardly concentrate on the darkening road ahead of him. His mind kept wandering to Tenorman Hall, his fingers flexing as he clutched the steering wheel. He fantasised about turning the car around and returning to Eric as fast as he could. He couldn't help but wonder why on Earth he was doing this. Why was he returning to the father who had so readily abandoned him? Why was he returning to a life he dreaded to continue, where he would be forever unfulfilled? Why was he handing over control of his life to somebody else? Kyle jolted at the speed he was now driving. His knuckles had strained white, the steering wheel digging into his palms. But when the silver mirror's reflection crossed his mind, the image of his remorseful father curdled his once justified anger. He continued to drive, and told himself to not look back.

When he pulled up in front of the house it was dimly lit and he couldn't bear the thought of going inside. But he had to, if only to face his father and demand answers. The evening air was chilly when he got out of the car, and he rubbed his hands together as he walked to the boot to retrieve his bags. Kyle closed the boot with a sharp, condemning slam, and the pebbles crunched beneath his shoes as he made his way to the front door. He felt like he could scream when he saw his father, and he wondered exactly what his reaction would be when he saw his son. Alive and well, but resentful too.

Instead of knocking, Kyle hesitated when he reached the front door. He didn't know why. He didn't even know why he felt the need to knock in the first place. Perhaps he didn't want to startle his father with his presence? Or perhaps the time away from this house had alienated a part of Kyle that felt welcome there? Shaking his head, Kyle knocked on the door.

Soon the door opened, but Kyle was startled by the sight he was greeted with. His gaunt, bleary-eyed father, withering without his son. It was as if the bleak future his father had been prophesising all these years, threatening Kyle with, was actually being realised.

"Kyle..." he gasped, gripping the door when his knees failed him. "Kyle!"

Kyle huffed when his father threw his arms around him. But his own arms were being squeezed tight in his father's crushing embrace. He couldn't return the hug even if he wanted to.

"Welcome home!" his father clapped him on the back before pushing him inside the house. "Come in, come in! Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am to see you! Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Kyle nodded, shuffling in and placing his luggage on the floor. "Thank you."

He frowned, nose wrinkled in dismay as he glanced around the living room. Dirty, dusty, and cloaked in oppressive darkness. Valiant, flickering candles tried to lighten the room, but it wasn't enough. Still, Kyle could try. He jumped when his father pulled him into another hug. He had never been so affectionate, now he was desperately so.

"Oh, Kyle, you must forgive me!" he pleaded. "I didn't know what to do – I had no choice, I... I only did what I thought was best! I, I, I thought I would never see you again!"

Kyle was still glancing around the living room, not even his first day at Tenorman Hall had felt this gloomy and disconcerting. His father was still holding him and Kyle limply returned the hug. It was the least he could do for now, ensuring their livelihoods was more important than dwelling on past actions. At least, that's what Kyle told himself to ease the sting of cleaning up after his father's mess.

"I do forgive you," Kyle replied. "Everything is all right now."

But he wasn't so sure. His voice and his thoughts were faraway.

* * *

Night was fading and Kyle had yet to question his father about his actions. He instead had nodded along to his father's suggestion of regaling him with his time at Tenorman Hall in the kitchen over a cup of tea. His father seemed to be unembarrassed by the state of the house, not acknowledging the grimy, unwashed plates and dusty windowsill. Kyle was already planning his day of cleaning as he waited for the kettle to boil.

"... And the house is beautiful on the inside," Kyle continued, fingers wrapped around a lukewarm mug. "It is old and in need of repair of course, but it is still lovely. I can only imagine how glorious it was in its heyday."

His father shook his head. "It is wasted really, on a beast like him..."

Kyle winced at the pang in his chest. Both the mention of Eric and his father's cruelty towards him stung.

"But it is his home, where else would he go?"

"I can't think of anywhere unfortunate enough that would take in such a monstrous creature as him."

Kyle thought of huge, warm arms wrapped around him, fur beneath his fingers, the library, and cosy evenings in the drawing room. His nostrils flared and his lip trembled.

"Please don't call him that!" he snapped. "He never hurt me, and he's not some wild, uncontrollable beast! He's intelligent, and sensitive, and kind, and..." he smiled. "I grew rather fond of him."

He saw the wary crease in his father's brow out of the corner of his eye and composed himself. Everything in his ordinary life was so different from Tenorman Hall, Kyle had to remember that. Such a magical place could make the real world disappear – from the mind at least.

"Still, it's not right, Kyle," his father replied. He was staring out of the kitchen window as if he could find the manor through the dark. "It's not natural that a creature so abominable exists. It ought to be destroyed."

"No!" Kyle retorted, his heart suddenly racing. "Eric has as much right to live as you or I!"

"Eric?"

Kyle hunched his shoulders, like Eric's name was a forbidden, troubling word.

"Yes, that's his name."

His father shook his head, the confused look on his face dissipating.

"Please, let's not talk about this anymore," Kyle implored, reaching out and holding his father's arm. "I am home, safe and sound, that's all that matters."

His father glanced at his arm and sighed, before nodding.

"Yes. I suppose you're right."

* * *

After such an eventful day, Kyle thought he would have been exhausted by the time he went to bed. Still, he was restless and finally yielded to  _Wuthering Heights_  on his bedside table. A few pages of a new book usually succeeded in coaxing him into slumber, but he had been reluctant tonight. It felt odd, wrong even, to continue reading without Eric beside him.

Now, he was reminded of him, Kyle struggled to focus on the words in front of him when the view from his window was beckoning him. Only a few weeks ago Kyle had been fascinated by Tenorman Hall glowing in the distance. Never would he have guessed that something so peculiar would lead him to an equally peculiar, and extraordinary person. Kyle wondered what that light would represent to him now, what emotions it would elicit now he had returned home.

His heart thudded harder and his skin flared, nervous and eager to spot that light again. Would the lights even be on? Would Eric have retired to bed early this evening? Raising his head from the book, Kyle found the light easily. Each window was glowing, and Kyle connected them like constellations. Fresh in his mind, the memory of Tenorman Hall enveloped him as if he were still there. It seemed brighter than ever, not even when Kyle was clueless and inquisitive did it ever seem that piercing... like the lights were shining just for him.

His heart clenched with yearning. The sensation was so sudden it robbed him of breath. The pages clapped loudly when Kyle shut the book, and tears sprung to his eyes when he placed it on his bedside table. He then buried himself under the covers and turned away from the window. But when his eyes closed, heavy and exhausted, he knew he would dream of returning to Eric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little short, I did consider combining this chapter with the next one but decided it would be too eventful and I didn't want to screw up the pacing. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed regardless and I'd love to your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

Eric hadn't left his bedroom since Kyle returned home. For five days he had slept by the window sill, his cheek resting on his arm as he gazed at the wilting rose. The stem had shrivelled, and only a few hopeful, charred petals remained. Eric often dreamed of them falling, of sealing his fate, and would wake up with a start only to discover nothing had changed. He was still in purgatory, half-beast, half-human. He didn't know which reality he preferred, although he knew what one he wanted. Even if he had insisted that Kyle's happiness was of the utmost importance, he still wished that his happiness had involved the two of them being together. It would be a unified, symmetrical happiness. Both human, both madly in love.

A languid smile started to tug at the corner of Eric's mouth, before a voice interrupted his daydream.

"Sir?"

Eric sighed. The door had been kept ajar for the staff to check on him, although their words of concern and reassurance barely settled in Eric's ears. Even the meals they brought up to him three times a day remained untouched for the most part.

"What is it, Gregory?" Eric asked, back turned to him. He was still staring at the rose.

"It's dinnertime, sir."

"Already?"

"Yes, already," Gregory replied with an uncomfortable cough. "Would you like to come downstairs and eat in the hall tonight?"

"No, thank you, Gregory. Have it sent up to me."

"But, sir, I-"

"Gregory," Eric cut in, as sharp as he could muster. "I want to eat up here."

He heard mumbling then, a soft, anxious chorus. Gregory wasn't alone.

"Sir, please, you haven't left this room since Kyle went home," Christophe said.

Eric winced at the mention of his name. His heart felt as brittle as the rose.

"I know..."

"It's not good for you, being cooped up here all day," Kenny added.

"As opposed to being trapped in the grounds of this house?" Eric snapped, in a brief, fiery moment of indignation. But then he sighed. What good would self-pity do? "Every room reminds me of him. How can I walk down a corridor, sit at that dining table, sit in my armchair by the fire and not be faced with the knowledge that I've lost him?"

More murmuring then, Eric almost wanted to roar at them to speak up.

"You've lost him?" Kenny asked.

"Of course I have!" Eric replied. "He left!"

"Not for good! You both agreed he would visit!"

"But what's to stop him from forgetting me?" Eric pointed out. "When he has a life and responsibilities of his own? I thought I could be happy without him, knowing he had made the right choice. But I never realised I would miss him this much, and now it's too late."

It was at that moment another petal joined the others at the bottom of the glass.

* * *

Kyle was startled by how easy it was to return to his old routine. He had been exhausted after his big spring clean of the house, and when he woke up the next morning it was as if he had never left. It had saddened him then, to realise that Tenorman Hall was retreating into his memory. He consoled himself with the thought of visiting someday, if only briefly.

Another day had passed and Kyle had gone into the village to do some shopping and return his overdue books to the library. He feared Miss Victoria would be irritated by his tardiness, but she was in fact delighted to see him and didn't mention the books in his arm until ten minutes into the conversation. Of course, she was curious as to where her most loyal visitor had been. But Kyle already had an excuse prepared by his father. He was to tell anybody who asked about his absence that he had been visiting relatives in London. Not that Kyle had many friends who were concerned about him, but he was a regular and polite customer at the bakery and greengrocers.

Visiting the library reminded Kyle of the brighter aspects of his otherwise dull routine, and the few people and places he cherished in the village. When he spotted Stan and Wendy's house on his walk back home, he decided to pay them a visit too. His father would be expecting him home, but he could spare a few minutes to say hello to Stan and Wendy. He knocked on the door and waited. Soon, he heard footsteps on the other side and Wendy opened the door. Her eyes widened and lit up at the sight of him.

"Kyle!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him.

"Hello Wendy," Kyle replied, wrapping an arm around her and returning the firm hug. He chuckled. "It's lovely to see you."

"Oh, it's marvellous to see you too!" she grinned, pulling away. She opened the door wider. "Come in, come in!"

Kyle followed Wendy inside the house and through the narrow hallway. When they entered the kitchen, Stan was sat at the table reading a newspaper. But he soon lowered it when he saw Kyle, revealing a wide smile.

"I thought I had heard your voice!" he said, closing the paper and standing up to greet Kyle. He clapped him on the back. "How have you been?"

"Yes, how was London?" Wendy asked, before Kyle could answer Stan. "Your father told us all about it."

"Lovely, thank you," Kyle replied with a nod. It was the truth, and he was glad he didn't have to lie to Stan and Wendy. "It was nice to have a change of scenery."

"How do you feel about village life now?"

"Yes, Kyle, Stan did tell me you were feeling rather stifled," Wendy added. "I don't blame you. It's natural in such a small village."

"Oh, um, fine, I suppose," Kyle replied, still nodding. "It does feel good to be back."

Again, when he was with Stan and Wendy that felt like the truth.

"How have you both been?" he asked.

"Oh, fine, fine..." Stan replied, waving the question off. "You know how it is, not much changes around here."

"We'll have plenty of gossip I'm sure from the tea dance on Friday," Wendy added. "Are you going, Kyle?"

Even after his lesson with Eric, Kyle still believed dancing wasn't for him. It might even feel wrong without Eric holding him. Kyle felt his throat close, his nose sting.

"Oh, probably not, no," he managed to reply. He glanced at the clock on the wall, though misty in his vision. "I must be going, actually."

He was already showing himself out before Stan and Wendy could respond.

"All right, well it was lovely to see you again, Kyle!" Wendy said.

"Try to pop by Saturday morning, if you can."

"Will do!" Kyle replied. "Goodbye!"

Shutting the door behind him, he took a long breath. Being reminded of Eric was sure to become a more bittersweet, wistful aspect of his routine.

* * *

The country air in his lungs on the walk back to the house was enough to refresh Kyle's good mood. Perhaps after lunch if there weren't any further chores to be done he would take  _Wuthering Heights_  out to the field and read under the tree for a while. It would be difficult of course, to not let his eyes and his mind wander above the pages to find Tenorman Hall in the distance. He shook his head, approaching the front door of the house and letting himself in.

"Oh, hello, Kyle," a voice greeted him when he stepped inside.

But not the voice of his father. It was the flat voice of Dr Meyers, standing in the living room with Leslie.

"Hello, doctor..." Kyle replied.

He gulped, the living room had never seemed smaller when they were all crowded in it. The bored doctor, his smiling father, and Leslie making sure she shone brighter than everyone in her fine clothes and with her Cheshire Cat grin.

"Yes, hello, Kyle!" she said. "It is always splendid to see you, however briefly."

"Thank you, Leslie," Kyle replied with a nod. He looked to his father for an explanation as to why they were there.

"The doctor and Leslie were just leaving," he instead offered.

"It's a terrible shame," Leslie added, lowering her head gently. "I had hoped you would be here, Kyle, so we could catch up."

"I'm sorry, I was out shopping," Kyle replied, gesturing to the bags in his hands.

"Oh, isn't he good, papa!"

"Yes, yes..." Dr Meyers nodded, preoccupied like always. "A fine gentleman."

Leslie sighed. "Oh well, I suppose we'll have plenty of time to catch up on Friday. Is five o'clock all right, Kyle?"

"Friday?" Kyle questioned. Brow furrowed, he looked to his father once again. "I, uh-"

"Yes, yes, five o'clock will be wonderful!" his father interjected. "You can take my car if you wish, Kyle."

"Oh, marvellous!" Leslie beamed, hands clasped to her chest. "You know I haven't sat in that car since... the night of the dinner party! Doesn't that seem so long ago?" she leaned in close enough to Kyle that he could smell her perfume. "And didn't we have such fun, Kyle? Perhaps we can continue from where we left off?"

Kyle's stomach lurched and his throat burned at the insinuation.

"I, I don't-"

"Leslie, darling, we must really be off!" Dr Meyers said. He was already grabbing his coat from the rack near the door.

Leslie rolled her eyes and huffed. Beneath her practiced charm, and forwardness she concealed from all the right people, her stroppiness revealed her true age.

"Fine! If you insist!" she replied, before turning to Kyle's father. "Pleasure to see you, Mr Broflovski!"

"You too, Leslie, goodbye!"

She gave him a small wave before returning to Kyle.

"And it was even more of a pleasure to see you, Kyle," she added lowly.

Kyle offered her a tight smile and tried not to meet her eyes.

"Yes, yes, goodbye," he replied.

He watched her retrieve her own dainty coat from the rack, and awkwardly waved at her and Dr Meyers as they left. The door slammed shut and Kyle was left reeling by the encounter. He thought he would never have to see Leslie again, that this pestering about a future he didn't want was over, but clearly he was wrong about that. It occurred to him then, that he had no real control over his desires and aspirations. He could have screamed his feelings from the rooftops and his father would still ignore him and plot behind his back. He blinked, scoffed quietly to himself at how naive he had been. Nothing would change upon his return. He remembered the shopping in his hands and slowly made his way to the kitchen, where his father was busying himself putting away clean dishes.

"What was all that about?" Kyle asked.

His father met his eyes, coughed into his fist and then averted his gaze. He continued to stack the dishes in the cupboard above him.

"Well, it was rather out of the blue," he replied. "I was working and there was a knock at the door, and it was Doctor Meyers and Leslie. They wondered if they could pop by for a quick chat, and Leslie in particular was very keen on speaking to you. We soon got onto the subject of the tea dance. Naturally, she was delighted when I offered you to take her."

Kyle sighed, closed his eyes.

"But I don't want to take her," he said, his voice straining with frustration. "I don't want to go."

His father looked at him as if he were deluded.

"Don't be silly!" he laughed. "Why would you not want to go with her?"

"Because she is not a nice girl," Kyle replied. "In fact, she is spoiled, and vain, and sly."

His father sighed, leaving the dishes and walking towards him.

"Kyle, you're getting older and you can't afford to be picky," he said. Kyle felt like they'd had this conversation a thousand times. "She seems like a pleasant, charming, attractive young woman. Surely you can overlook those faults? You have to. It could be years until another eligible young woman comes along. They'll all be married off soon, and where would that leave you? A bachelor."

"And what is wrong with that?" Kyle asked, standing up straighter. "If I was happy... then does it matter if I have a wife?"

His father sighed again - heavier, closing his eyes for a few seconds longer.

"I have been as patient as I can possibly be with you, Kyle, but it is wearing thin," he replied, his voice hard and his eyes steely. "I know marriage seems a daunting prospect right now but someday you will-"

"No!" Kyle snapped, putting the shopping on the table. "I will never be ready because I don't want to get married! Ever!"

"Don't be absurd! How can you expect to live like this forever?" His father replied. He shook his head and scratched his beard. "Do you know that the one thought that reassured me while you were away was that the beast promised me you would be all right? You would be unharmed, and one day you would return to me with a different perspective. You would have had your adventure, your independence... you would have seen how wretched and miserable it is to be alone and forgotten, and you would realise that marriage is the sensible option. It would enrich both of our lives. And even if it wasn't a burning desire, something you truly wanted... you would feel an even stronger sense of obligation, of duty to ensure that we and our family name survive. I thought you would grow out of this immature selfishness!"

Kyle took a step back. His throat tightened, he could hardly breathe or take his eyes off his father. Meanwhile, his father had pinked and he was fidgeting, squirmy and embarrassed, as one would be when their true intentions were revealed. Something cold and nauseating surged inside Kyle – the fear of being trapped. He couldn't let that happen. He may have been strung along all these years, but he would break free of this coffin before the final nail could be hammered in.

"But we can discuss all of that after the dance," his father spoke up. His voice was quiet. "I don't want to argue with you. Get started on lunch, will you?"

Bubbling resentment burned that sickening fear, and startling clarity thinned it away. For once, Kyle was seeing his father for who he truly was. He wasn't somebody who was wise and generous, nor was he somebody brave and admirable. He was selfish, and cowardly, and bitter, and perhaps being a father to someone who he felt had wronged him just by being born had made him more resentful with each passing day. Why did Kyle felt he had to appease him? What more did he have to do to earn his unconditional love? Before he realised how impossible a task it was, before he realised how much of himself was at stake, he would have persevered. But he couldn't live like this anymore, nor did he want to.

"No."

"Pardon?" his father asked.

Kyle gulped. He clenched his fists at his sides.

"No, I don't want to make lunch for you anymore," he continued. "And I don't want to get married, and I don't want to be controlled by guilt and shame."

His father frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. Kyle wished he could stop trembling.

"I'm leaving," he said, storming out of the kitchen and up the stairs before his father could respond.

"Kyle!" his father shouted, following him up the stairs. Kyle had already reached his bedroom. "Kyle! What on earth are you doing?!"

Kyle grabbed his suitcase and threw it on his bed, hurriedly packing his clothes, his old books, and, of course,  _Wuthering Heights_. He had left his bedroom door open in his hurry, and he heard his father's footsteps behind him. But he didn't care. Nothing could stop him from leaving this place.

"Where do you expect to go?" his father asked, panting.

Kyle snatched the keys to the car Eric loaned him from the bedside table and tucked them in his trouser pocket. He kept his back to his father.

"Tenorman Hall," he replied.

"Where?  _To the beast?_ "

"His name is Eric!"

"Why would you ever want to go back to him?"

"Because he treats me like an equal!" Kyle shouted, shutting his suitcase and grabbing it. He turned to face his father. "Because he cares about me, and appreciates me, and loves me!"

His father balked, holding onto the doorframe.

"Loves you?!"

"Yes!" Kyle cried. "Something you have never done!"

"How dare you say that! You're my son, of course I love you! I have fed you, I have clothed you, I have taught you, provided a roof over your head-"

"You've only ever thought of yourself!" Kyle interrupted. "You treat me like a servant!  _You blame me for my mother's death!"_ The accusation stirred them both. His father gripped the doorframe tighter and lowered his gaze. Kyle's eyes burned with tears but he continued. "You've never forgiven me for that and I've been paying for it all my life. But you'll never let me earn my forgiveness, no matter how hard I try. You just demand more and more of me, until I am miserable! You lost your wife, and it was devastating... but I lost my mother too, and I know she would have wanted me to be happy. And I can't be happy here, you'd never allow it."

They were both breathless, and Kyle could hardly move. He saw the tears brimming in his father's eyes and heard him seething.

"Give me that!" His father demanded, reaching forward to snatch the suitcase but Kyle dodged him. He shoved past his father and ran down the stairs.

"Kyle!" His father shouted. It still made Kyle wince. "Come back here now!"

But Kyle had reached the living room and was heading for the front door.

"Don't you dare leave!" his father cried, running down the stairs.

Kyle looked over his shoulder one last time and saw his furious, desperate father. He opened the door and marched out. His father continued to follow him, he could hear his footsteps, quick and urgent.

"Kyle!" he pleaded, stood by the front door. Kyle had thrown his suitcase in the boot and had opened the car door. "Kyle, please!"

Kyle ignored him, getting in the car and slamming the door hard. He started the car drowning out his father's shouts, and sped off. He saw his father running out of the house, but refused to look in the wing mirror until he was on the country road proper.

He felt as though he had escaped a beast, and now he was returning home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So last chapter was a bit uneventful, hopefully this chapter will make up for all the lack of action before. The final part of this was my favourite part to write! Only two more chapters to go, guys. We're almost there! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! I'd love to know your thoughts!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up that there is some violence later in the chapter. Nothing too graphic or explicit but I know some people may find that stuff unsettling so please tread with caution. All that being said, I hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! Thank you as always for reading!

Too depressed to continue staring at the rose, Eric had decided to leave his bedroom. Perhaps he would retire to the sitting room, or brave the grounds, or the drawing room if he dared to breathe in the residual happiness that Kyle had left behind. His legs had ached, stiff and unused, as he shuffled down the corridor. He had paused at the library, shut up once more and left to collect dust. Eric hadn't locked it, however, just in case Kyle returned for a visit anytime soon and wanted to look around.

The desire to go in there himself had raced through Eric like a fork of lightening. It was quick and emboldening, and had left his heart slightly charred. Kyle was seeped into every corner of that room. Eric would've choked on his presence. The notion had stolen Eric's breath before he entered, but he went in nonetheless. He missed him so much, it was worth every stolen breath and tear to just roam around that room again.

The waning sun streaming through the windows illuminated the books. The sunlight made the crisp, gilded spines blush in its pinkish hue, held the dust in the air like it belonged to pixies. Eric ran his claw along them, and imagined how much more magical those books would appear if Kyle was running his slender, curious fingers along them instead.

"Eric!"

He jumped at the sound, his claw leaving a faint scratch on one of the books. The sound was enchanting, familiar, the echo rang in his ears and he knew who the voice belonged to... it couldn't be Kyle, surely? Perhaps thoughts of him had summoned up a phantom of Kyle? A vision of his beloved? This house was haunted, Eric realised, in so many ways. No longer a home, it was only a chamber of memories of the people he loved. Still, he looked to the door and waited for something, anything, for the ghost to show itself.

"Eric!"

Louder, desperate, wavering but strong and real. Eric had to find where that voice was coming from, had to see with his own two eyes that what he couldn't let himself believe was happening actually was true. Perhaps he would leave the library only to open his eyes and discover he had been dreaming all along? He ran out of the library, bursting through the double doors that flew wide open and hit the wall with a loud thud. On all fours he sprinted along the corridor until he reached the banister. He stood up, placed his paws on the mahogany railing, and for the first time felt like he could've buckled under his hulking weight when he saw Kyle. He was a small, bewildered figure in the middle of the grand hall but his presence was powerful enough to make Eric falter.

"Eric!"

"Kyle!"

Eric watched Kyle lift his head, and a wide smile spread across his face when he saw Kyle stumble, noticeably tremble. He sprinted along the corridor and then down the stairs. Kyle was watching all the while, breathless himself, and his face flushed with tears. Eric saw that he was smiling at him, noticed the bags that were at his feet and felt like his pounding heart could soar out of his ribcage. They walked across the grand hall to meet each other and collided in each other's arms. Neither of them were afraid, just relieved and knowing this is where they belonged. Eric enveloped Kyle in his arms, lifting him off his feet and pressing him close. Kyle clung to Eric's fur, grabbing large tufts and nuzzling his heaving chest. Kyle was shuddering, and Eric soon felt a wetness at his jacket. But his tears had already fallen into Kyle's hair.

"I'm sorry!" Kyle cried, gasping for breath. "Eric, I'm so sorry I left, I'm sorry..."

"Sshh, it's all right," Eric replied, gently petting his curls. "Don't be sorry. I know it's only been a short while but I... I've missed you so much, Kyle."

Kyle sniffled and nodded.

"I've missed you too. I don't want to leave you ever again." He lifted his head, and their eyes met. "Please can I stay here?"

"You didn't have to ask." Eric chuckled, giddy and soft. "Of course you can."

Kyle smiled, and Eric pressed him close again when he saw fresh tears well in his eyes.

* * *

All the staff were present at dinner, assisting in the meal and chatting to Kyle excitedly about his return. The only member who hadn't attended was Bebe, but she and Kyle had already had their reunion. She had shrieked upon seeing him, and Eric left them deep in conversation while he went to inform the rest of the staff that Kyle was back for good. They had eaten in the dining hall though hardly had time to speak to each other. They exchanged gentle, relieved glances across the table that would promise a more private conversation in the drawing room.

Still, Eric was sat in a content silence, staring at the crackling fire and listening to the rain tapping against the windows. Kyle was lounged on the chair beside him, his smile loose and thoughtful. For the first time in ten years Eric realised he could make peace with his curse now that he had Kyle in his life. He was starting to wonder if he could even call it a curse anymore, when it had led him to meet such a wonderful man.

"How are you feeling?" Eric asked.

Kyle slid his gaze to him and grinned. He sat up in the chair, stretching his arms in a quiet yawn.

"Tired, happy... it's so wonderful to be back, and to see everyone again."

"They missed you almost as much as I did."

Kyle chuckled, though his smile soon disappeared. His gaze wandered into the fire, uncomfortable and remorseful.

"I would like to say that I don't know why I ever left but I do. I feel like a fool to have ever made such a decision."

"Kyle, you did what you thought was right," Eric replied. He wouldn't look away when Kyle's eyes met his. "You thought your father needed you-"

"I thought a lot of things of my father, but I realised you were right, Eric," Kyle cut in. "I can't live my life for him. It would've killed me in the end." A smile began to stretch across his face, one that made Eric's heart seem to swell. "But I'm with you now, and that's all that matters."

"Precisely," he said with his own grin. "I will never take you for granted, Kyle."

"Thank you. Should we read some more before bed?"

Eric sighed. He had not only missed Kyle, but the lovely routine they had formed.

"Yes, that would be lovely."

"Although I have read on from where we left off," Kyle warned. "But I don't mind going back a few pages."

Kyle leaned forward to retrieve the book by his feet and placed it in his lap. But before he could open it, a slow, hard knock at the door seemed to make the whole house shudder. Like, a shy, skittish animal that had only recently been tamed it balked and cowered from strange eyes, from unwelcome discovery. The shudder seemed to reverberate through Eric and Kyle, and they glanced at each other warily. Who would ever come out here? Who knew he was here? And what could they want? Only one person came to mind, seizing his and Kyle's happiness and making his heart clench.

"I'll see to that," Kyle said wisely. He stood up. "Stay here."

Eric nodded, watched Kyle compose himself and cross the room. Kyle gave him a serious but reassuring look as he shut the door behind him. Alone, Eric fidgeted at not being privy to whatever conversation was about to take place, and his mind rushed at any potential danger Kyle faced. He knew his presence would already exacerbate a charged situation, but he hated that he couldn't accompany Kyle, support him, and make sure he was all right. He stood up and crept across the room, pressing his ear to the door so he knew if and when he should intervene.

"What are you doing here?" he heard Kyle ask. "I'm not going back with you and I'm not letting you in!"

"Where is he?!" A louder, furious voice responded. Eric recognised it to be Kyle's father. He remembered hearing that familiar, desperate tone. His heart plummeted, his fear being realised. "I want to see the beast!"

Kyle gasped, as sudden as a spirit manifesting. Eric reached for the doorknob.

"Where did you get that?!"

"Never mind where I got that!" His father replied. Eric could hear his feet stomping in the hall and he snarled. "Tell me where that damn monster is so I can put an end to all this and take you home!"

"I am home!" Kyle shouted. "This is my home now and I am not going anywhere with you! Please leave and never come back!"

Teeth bared, Eric couldn't listen to another moment of Kyle's distress. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, storming out into the hall. He made sure to straighten his back, puff out his chest and keep his fangs on show, his claws unfurled and gleaming menacingly. He was determined to cast as much of an intimidating shadow as he possibly could.

"He told you to leave!"

Eric's voice boomed, bounced off the walls in the grand, airy room. The echoes seemed to slide off Kyle's father like the rain and he appeared just as feral as Eric. He was seething, water dripping from his heaving shoulders. He was snarling too, his eyes narrowed and boring into Eric. Just like Eric's claws, the shotgun he held gleamed in the filtered moonlight also.

"You!" he exclaimed, pointing at Eric. "You've turned my own son against me! You've torn my family apart! You promised no harm would come to him, and look what you've turned him into!"

Eric huffed, incredulous.

"What are you talking about?!"

"Eric hasn't done anything wrong!" Kyle cried. "This is all your fault!"

"Quiet, Kyle!" his father snapped. "I'll make this right. I won't let this hideous beast destroy our future!"

Before Eric could push him out the door, he heard the click of a shot gun. Kyle's father was ready to take aim. Eric gasped, wanting to move or duck but he was frozen to the spot. It was as if his mind had left him already, watching all this from afar and screaming at his empty body to save itself.

"No!" Kyle yelled, ringing in Eric's ears.

Suddenly, Kyle was jumping in front of him, arms outstretched. It was a blur of red curls and rain and not even the sound of the bullet leaving the gun in its swift, explosive cacophony could stir Eric from his shock. He found it in himself to reach out, to push Kyle away, but Kyle's body was already limp and a different kind of red sprayed in Eric's vision.

"Kyle!" he screamed.

A sickening copper tang flooded his nostrils, hot, and burning. An agonising scream catapulted him back to the present moment. A nightmarish moment, a crucial moment where time itself was crashing around him.

Kyle was at his feet, crimson spreading over his white shirt, and spilling onto the floor. A bullet had torn into the flesh at his stomach. Eric's panicked breaths, tripling by the second, robbed him of his words. Although horrified by the sight, he couldn't stop looking at Kyle. His green eyes were wide and glittering in fear, searching for relief, and tears fell from his lashes. His colourless face glistened with sweat and he choked on his breathing. Flames of anger engulfed Eric's panic and he fixed his searing gaze on Kyle's father, who was too terrified at the sight of his bleeding son to be scared of a beast.

"Look what you've done!" Eric cried. Scorching tears rushed to his eyes.

"I, I, I didn't mean to, I-"

Eric struck him across the face. Kyle deserved more than pathetic excuses. His father had screamed, and covered his face but Eric had already seen the torn, stinging flesh. He whimpered as he petted his face, still staring at Kyle. Eric couldn't believe he was still standing in front of them.

"Get out of my house and never come back!"

"Oh," Kyle's father whispered, biting back a sob. He stepped forward. "Oh, Kyle, I-"

Eric roared in his face before he could get any closer to Kyle. His father fled into the rain, leaving the front door wide open. Eric was left trembling in the grand hall but he had to help Kyle. He had to be brave and steady if Kyle was going to be all right. But before he could see to him, his feet left the floor and he floated up towards the dome window. He saw Kyle lying on the floor and tried to pull himself back down, but the incandescent embrace of mystical forces was too tight, too strong, weighing down on his limbs and seizing control of his movements. A slivery, unspoiled light filled his eyes but didn't burn, it washed over his body but didn't feel corrosive. It crawled over his scalp, seemed to peel away the abundance of follicles all over his body and he felt lighter, weightless, free. His fangs and claws shrunk and although that startling light had temporarily blinded him, he knew he was himself again. It pulled him back down to the floor and left him in a heap, shuddering at the weight that had just been lifted. Blinking his eyes open, he felt smaller and he stared down at the stretched clothes now pooling around him. He touched his face and felt soft skin and only faint, downy hairs. In fact, he could run his fingers over his cheek without fear of cutting himself. Short fingernails had replaced jagged claws. But he couldn't rejoice for long. He crawled over to Kyle and gently held him. His body was still warm and trembling, but his eyes were cloudy. Eric hoped he could see him, that he knew him.

"Eric?" Kyle asked, his breath catching on his name.

"Yes," Eric whispered, he gulped down his tears. "Yes, Kyle, it's me. Please, try not to speak."

Footsteps in the hallway were soon heard. The staff had joined them from their quarters.

"Sir, is everything all right?" Gregory asked. "We heard a gunshot!"

"And we're human again, sir!" Leopold exclaimed. "All of us are human again!"

"Can you believe it, sir?" Bebe called from the top of the stairs. "We're-  _Kyle_!" she screamed, before running down the stairs.

The rest of the staff started to murmur and moved in closer. Kelly gasped and clutched Kenny.

"Was he shot?" she asked. "Who did this?"

"Dear lord, is he going to be all right?" Kenny added.

"Yes, he'll be fine!" Eric snapped, voice buckling with panic. "Gregory, will you please telephone a doctor and tell them we need urgent help!"

"Right away, sir!" Gregory replied, before rushing to the phone.

"Kelly, get me a cloth to staunch the blood!"

Kelly nodded, transfixed on Kyle.

"Yes, sir!" she replied, before bustling away to her quarters.

Eric wanted to reach out to touch Kyle's face, stroke his hair in reassurance, but his hands were wet and warm with blood. Kyle was still shuddering in his arms and Eric's heart clenched with each droop of his eyelids. But he was still looking into Eric's eyes, holding his gaze as firmly as he could and not letting go. Eric would never let him go, he wouldn't be going anywhere.

"We're fetching a doctor for you, Kyle," he said softly, trying to smile although his lower lip was wobbling. "Everything will be all right."

Kyle nodded drowsily.

"Eric... if anything should happen... please know that... I love you."

Eric nodded, his face crumpling in tears he wished he could have held back. Of course he knew Kyle loved him. He knew it as soon as that powerful light had lifted him and the curse with it. He knew it as soon as Kyle had risked his life for him. He leaned forward and for the first time placed his lips on Kyle. He kissed his forehead, and nuzzled his hair.

"I know, I know you do," he replied. "I love you so very much."

All Eric could do was hold Kyle until the doctor arrived, and hope that if their love was capable of such transcendental feats, such miraculous transformations, then it was capable of saving Kyle too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter left, guys! I'll try to get it posted as soon as I possibly can, because this ended on a pretty significant cliffhanger, pfft! In the mean time, thank you again for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is here! And it's super mushy. But I love mushy last chapters. There'll be an equally as mushy Author's Note at the end of this chapter too, as per usual. Thank you so much for reading, guys, and I hope you like this final chapter!

When Kyle woke up the next morning, he could have sworn the terrible, extraordinary events of the previous evening had just been a feverish nightmare. He could have read a chapter or two of  _Wuthering Heights_ ; he and Eric could have ascended the stairs together and wished each other a good night before retiring to their rooms; and he could have chatted to Bebe as he went about his bedtime routine before falling into a deep, content sleep. The sight of his deranged father, the gun, the sight of Eric finally shedding himself of his beastly form felt palpably real - the searing, excruciating pain in his gut even more so. No time seemed to have passed between the previous evening and the present moment. Suddenly he was lying in bed when one minute he was bleeding on the floor with a frail gasp on consciousness.

But his head felt as if it were wrapped in the same warm, comfortable sheets he was swaddled in. His tongue felt coarse and heavy, his eyelids, mouth and limbs felt weighted too. He couldn't yawn or stretch to break the seal on this stifling fatigue. He could only turn his head and he heard the crisp fabric of his pillow rustle as he did so. That pain emanating from his gut slowly returned to him, a dull throbbing ache. In vain he tried to lean forward, to inspect it further, but was reprimanded by an acute jolt of pain that travelled through him. He seethed and nestled into the pillows, and then like a salve on his tender condition he finally registered the soft, warm hand in his own. Sensation was returning to him gradually, a thumb brushed against his knuckles.

"Good morning," Eric said beside him.

Kyle turned his head and almost gasped at the man beside him. He knew it was Eric, he could tell by his voice, his eyes, and it seemed as though Kyle had finally found him. Eric was so breathtaking in his genuine form that he shone through the hazy clouds of confusion. They dissipated, and the world rushed back to Kyle. He smiled, wobbly and weak.

"Good morning..."

"How are you feeling?"

"Groggy, and I'm aching terribly," Kyle replied. "What exactly happened, Eric?"

"Well, how much do you remember?" Eric asked, rubbing coaxing circles on Kyle's hand with his thumb.

"I remember my father tried to shoot you, and I stopped him..." Kyle stopped. Panic crawled over his skin. He remembered jumping in front of Eric, but was still unsure if he was successful. A part of him didn't want to believe that the ache in his gut was actually a bullet wound. "I did stop him, didn't I? Is that what this pain is?"

Eric only nodded, his eyes glistening and lips pursed.

"Yes, that's what it is," he finally replied. His voice was taut. "You did an amazing thing, Kyle, you saved my life. I cannot thank you enough."

Kyle shook his head, he never thought of gratitude when he leapt in front of that bullet. He thought of nothing except saving Eric.

"There's no need to thank me. I could never have let him hurt you. What happened then?"

"Gregory called a doctor and we took you to your room," Eric continued. "He bandaged your wound and also gave you some morphine for the pain..." he said his next words carefully. "We also informed the police of what your father did."

Kyle nodded, gaze wandering the sheets as he imagined the police coming to the house and arresting his father. He heard his pathetic excuses, and saw only fear painted across his face. Kyle willed himself to feel something, but he couldn't. How could his father do such a thing in the first place?

"I don't know what on earth possessed him to do that," he murmured, shaking his head.

"He must have been afraid of losing you."

"Perhaps," Kyle replied. "He is a very cowardly man."

He lifted his gaze to Eric and found he couldn't look away. His eyes roamed over Eric's soft chestnut hair that skimmed his familiar topaz eyes, his short button nose, his sweet, plump lips, and his round, full face. Kyle thought him boyish with his sparkling, mischievous eyes, strong and sturdy with his firm hands and broad shoulders, and more handsome than he could have possibly imagined. He was sure that if Eric lowered his thumb he could have felt Kyle's racing pulse.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Kyle blinked, shook his head.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he replied. "You just look so different, I can hardly believe it."

Eric ducked his head for a moment, and Kyle loved seeing more hair fall into his eyes. He wanted to brush it away, feel it between his fingers.

"Is that a good thing?" Eric asked, chuckling.

"Of course it's a good thing," Kyle replied, chuckling too. "It's a wonderful thing."

"It's all thanks to you, Kyle." Eric beamed. "When you saved me you broke the curse."

Kyle froze, in disbelief that this was all his doing.

"I did?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Eric's face was flushed and he was staring deep into Kyle's eyes when he nodded.

"Yes, you did."

"You're very handsome, Eric," Kyle admitted. He had to acknowledge it sooner or later.

"Thank you." Eric grinned. "I think we make a fine couple, don't you?"

"Yes, we do," Kyle replied, before glancing at his bandaged wound. "Although perhaps not right now, I must look dreadful."

Eric shook his head.

"You look as lovely as ever."

Kyle blushed at the flattery he was only used to reading about in epic, sweeping novels of chivalrous heroes and beautiful damsels. Never did he think he would receive such compliments himself.

"Thank you," he murmured. "You're very kind."

"I'm being honest," Eric replied, earnest and intent. He reached out to touch Kyle's cheek, and even though his fingertips only brushed his skin Kyle still felt as though Eric held his breath in his palms. "Even now I want to hold you, and kiss you, and-"

Eric stopped himself. Kyle felt himself grow warmer beneath Eric's fingers. They were quickly snatched away and Eric gulped, trying to compose himself.

"Sorry..."

Kyle's eyebrows furrowed and he tried to shuffle closer to Eric. He didn't want him to be discouraged from talking like that. Kyle could've listened to such sincere, tender words all day long.

"Why are you apologising?"

"I don't want you to think me forward," Eric explained, no doubt stifled by a propriety that had been instilled in him from youth.

But Kyle didn't want propriety, or suppression, or doubt. Eric didn't need to impress him, for Kyle was already captivated. He wanted them to be able to express themselves, to be able to tell each other anything, and not hide their feelings. He shook his head.

"I don't think you're forward, Eric."

"I've wanted to kiss you for so long, but have been unable to," Eric explained, leaning forward. "Now that the curse has been lifted there are so many things I want to experience with you, but I do not want you to be uncomfortable. I'll wait as long as you need me to, Kyle."

Kyle's chest seemed to tighten with affection. He felt as if he didn't have the capacity to love Eric as much as he did, he never thought it was possible. But he did love him tremendously. He loved him enough to risk his own life, after all, and he would have done it again.

"You're a wonderful man, Eric."

Eric grinned.

"I think you may have had something to do with that."

"But I want to experience all these things too," Kyle said, giving Eric's hand a squeeze. That one simple action made him feel braver. "I never had any desire for it before, but perhaps I had never met the right person. Now I know I have... and I don't think I can wait any longer. Please kiss me, Eric."

Kyle felt Eric's hand tense in his own. He saw his eyes widen with surprise and intrigue. His pupils had already started to yawn with arousal. Fear pricked Kyle's assured desire only slightly. He was in awe of his own tenacity, in awe of Eric, and in awe of the passion he elicited in Eric too, when Eric was staring at his lips like they were the most sumptuous dessert he couldn't wait to sample. Eric dove in to claim his lips, cutting Kyle's breath short but he soon sighed into the kiss. Despite the gentle press of lips, a feeling Kyle could only describe as electric tingled throughout his body, awakening his synapses and enlivening his nerves. Kyle lifted his hips, and his toes spread at the warm, wet friction their lips were creating. Eric's hand roamed into Kyle's hair and Kyle tilted his head to receive Eric's kiss, dizzy and greedy, only wanting more. Soon, a careful tongue prodded at Kyle's mouth and Kyle – inexperienced and yearning as he was – let him in, reaching out to blindly grab Eric's bicep and hold on tight. This is what Kyle had been waiting for all these years, and now he had finally experienced it, how could he have ever settled? He whimpered when their lips separated. They mirrored each other's delirious grins, panting and lips gleaming.

"I'd never done that before," Kyle revealed, remembering his unpleasant incident with Leslie in the car. "Not with anyone I wanted to at least..."

Eric snickered, pressed his forehead against Kyle's.

"I would never have known," he replied lowly before he kissed Kyle again.

Their pecks were swifter but no less indulgent, as if they wanted more but couldn't keep up.

"You know there really is no rush..." Eric said breathlessly in between kisses. "To do anything... we can take our time."

Kyle nodded, and kissed Eric again in reply.

"I love you," Eric admitted, ragged and quiet. He still stared at Kyle's lips.

"I love you too," Kyle replied, stealing another kiss.

He was starting to become addicted, but Eric seemed willing to keep him in supply. However, they were soon interrupted by several knocks on the door.

"Sir?" Pip asked. "Is Kyle awake?"

"Is he all right?" Kenny added.

"Oh, please can we see him, sir?" Bebe begged.

Eric pulled away and smirked at Kyle. But Kyle nodded, he was curious as to what the staff truly looked like.

"Yes, yes, come in," Eric called, returning to his chair and smoothing out his clothes.

The door opened and the staff poured in, chattering away and talking over each other. Kyle sat up in bed, chuckling at their excitement and taking in all these new faces.

There was a well dressed blond man, who stood with straight shoulders and his hands behind his back. He had glossy, wavy hair that was tucked behind his ears, and he resided over the others with an air of disapproval. But he couldn't stop keeping an eye on them for even a second. Next to him was a man with hands in his pockets, dark, greasy hair and sun beaten skin. He glanced around the bedroom with indifference, hands in his pocket as if he were oblivious to the remarkable transformations that had occurred. Then there was the giggling, delighted couple who couldn't keep their hands off each other now they had the chance. She had her fair hair tied back with a grubby ribbon, and full cheeks flushed with first love. Her boyfriend had his arm wrapped around her and was gazing into her eyes, grinning with all his chipped teeth. He was still rather handsome, with cool blue eyes and a mop of blond hair.

There were a few blonds actually, including a bright-eyed gentleman with smooth shoulder-length hair and his hands clasped patiently in front of him, and a boy who still appeared quite young. He had a peculiar tuft of blond hair that Kyle couldn't help but smile at. He bumped his knuckles as he chatted to a blond girl who Kyle knew instantly. She had mentioned her abundance of marvellous curls when Kyle had once despaired over his own unruly hair whilst combing the knots out of it, and she had told Kyle stories about the men in her hometown pub that had commented on and leered at her voluptuous figure when they really should have known better. Kyle was delighted to see her so happy now, twirling a curl around her finger and occasionally bouncing on her heels as she talked.

"My, you all look marvellous!" Kyle grinned.

"Do you really think so, Kyle?" The young, blond boy asked, in a voice Kyle knew belonged to Butters – rather, Leopold.

"Absolutely! We'll have to be reintroduced!" Kyle replied. "Although I think I can make a few good guesses."

Eric chuckled beside him, and he and Kyle exchanged shy, knowing looks before the staff started to crowd around his bed. After all, this was a time for them all to rejoice.

* * *

Although it was a time for celebration in Tenorman Hall, for Kyle it was also a time for recovery. He was bedridden for two days, and had frequent visitors – the staff bringing his meals, a doctor checking on him once a day and a policeman inquiring about a night Kyle only remembered in fragments and could have never truly explained. Eric was by his side through it all. He delighted in the doctor's positive comments, squeezing Kyle's hand when they were alone; he comforted Kyle when the policeman's interview had left him perplexed and drained, scooping him up in a gentle embrace; and they chatted until the witching hour, until their voices strained and their eyelids became heavy. Eric often fell asleep beside Kyle, but he didn't complain. After spending all day with him, Kyle felt it was silly to expect Eric to return to his own room when they clearly still wanted to be with each other, even when they weren't awake. Kyle was happy to fall asleep to the sound of Eric's soft snoring, and wake up to his peaceful face, or a smiling, hoarse 'good morning'.

They finished  _Wuthering Heights_  too, with Eric volunteering to read the remainder of the novel. Kyle had wondered whether he had perhaps been too boring when he read aloud before, since Eric did such great impressions of the characters and spoke so emotively. He would be laughing at Eric's rendition of a booming Heathcliff and simpering Cathy one minute, and misty-eyed the next as Eric read another beautiful passage. When Kyle felt well enough, he and Eric went to the library to find a new book to read. Although Eric had advised against it, Kyle climbed up the ladder to explore the highest shelves, passing books down to Eric until his arms were bulging with classic novels. But they couldn't decide on one book so chose two for themselves. Kyle didn't mind the compromise, and adored the image of the two of them cosy in bed, engrossed in their novels but content in each other's quiet company on hazy, summer nights.

They were now having breakfast in the dining hall, and Kyle was staring out of the window at the bright, cloudless day. The large roses soaking up the sun, the faint birdsong, was alluring in a way Kyle had never noticed before, and the lilting daises in the breeze were almost beckoning him. He wanted to explore the grounds carelessly with Eric, and for Eric to feel like he belonged there once again. Too long he had only roamed the grounds in the darkness, behind a thick veil of invisibility. But the darkness hid the garden's beauty too, and it saddened Kyle to think that for years Eric could never truly appreciate it.

"You look better with each passing day," Eric remarked, pulling Kyle away from his thoughts. "There's more colour in your cheeks and your eyes are brighter."

"Thank you, I feel in much better spirits." Kyle smiled.

"I'm glad."

Kyle's gaze returned to the garden when Eric took a sip of his tea.

"It's a beautiful day," Kyle pointed out.

"Yes, it is," Eric replied, looking out of the window too.

Kyle shifted in his seat before he asked; "Shall we go for a walk around the grounds?"

Eric looked up from his tea, setting it down and smiling.

"That sounds lovely."

* * *

Eric pointed out certain historical features, and his own childhood memories associated with a tree or a flower patch as they walked around the grounds arm in arm. Kyle listened to each story intently, glad that Eric was so willing to share. He loved the feeling of the sun on his face after a few days spent recuperating in the house, the summer air inundated with the scent of flowers and glistening with pollen, and Eric's strong, firm arm linked through his. The warmth, brightness, sweetness, and security he felt washed away any lingering resentment and confusion. It felt unnecessary, stifling but easy to shake off. It belonged to a past life, he didn't need it anymore.

"You have the biggest smile on your face, do you realise that?" Eric asked.

Kyle flushed, but his smile didn't disappear.

"It must be because I was thinking of wonderful things," he replied.

"What were you thinking about?"

Kyle sighed, he was brimming with so much joy that he hardly knew where to begin.

"Oh, everything," he said. "I was thinking of how cheerful everyone is, how wonderful it is that everything has fallen into place. I was thinking of how the whole world seems so much more exciting now. I don't think I've ever been happier."

A smile spread across Eric's face and he sighed too.

"Me neither," he replied. "I would never have guessed that such a dark period of my life would have led me to meet someone like you, that you would bring so much light and promise to my life."

Kyle's smile crinkled and he rested his head on Eric's shoulder. He didn't want Eric to see his blissful, overwhelmed tears. But Eric must have sensed he was in need of assurance, acknowledgement, when he placed a kiss in hair.

"Do you think about the future often, then?" Kyle asked.

"More so lately, now that I actually have one."

"And what does the future look like for you?" Kyle asked, raising his head.

"For us, you mean." Eric grinned, giving Kyle a soft, playful nudge.

"Right, for us," Kyle replied, beaming when the words came out of his mouth. "I want to be a part of whatever you have planned."

Eric smiled tightly, emboldened by Kyle's encouragement.

"Well... I would like to sell the house and move away."

Kyle bristled, curious and wary of the enormity of Eric's plans, astonished that he had even considered such a daunting step so soon.

"Really?" he asked. "Where would you go?"

"Anywhere that isn't England," Eric replied. "I want to see the world! France, Italy, India, America-"

"America," Kyle smiled, mind rushing with all these far-off destinations. "That sounds wonderful, it all sounds wonderful. I would love to visit all of those places with you."

He never imagined he would leave this island, but he couldn't imagine anything better than visiting all these different places with Eric; living there, working there, making an abundance friends dotted around the globe, and memories too. Adventure - it was all Kyle had wanted.

"If we sell the house we could," Eric replied, still grinning. Their enthusiasm was infectious. "I love this house, and I have so many memories here. But it is falling apart, and I could never repair it. So many country houses now are being sold to councils and turned into private estates, I could make a lot of money from it. I have spent so long imprisoned here, Kyle, it is time for me to let it go."

Kyle nodded. Of course Eric would want to leave behind the place he had been confined to for a decade. No matter how precious and beautiful.

"I understand, and I will follow you wherever you go, Eric. All I've wanted in my life is adventure-"

Kyle stopped himself when Eric's arm slipped out of his own and wrapped around his shoulders. He squeezed him gently.

"I will give you that in spades, my darling," Eric replied. He kissed Kyle's hair and murmured, "I will try my very best to give you everything your heart desires."

Eric's words sent a tremor through Kyle and he was burning. With affection, yes, but also anticipation for all these adventures that had barely begun.

"I know you will." He smiled, looking up at Eric and gazing into his eyes. "You already have."

Grinning, they then sealed the deal with a kiss.

* * *

**A year later**

Kyle and Eric left their bedroom and walked down the corridor with their suitcases in hand. They were smiling, eyes roaming the walls, ceiling, floors, and banisters as if they were savouring this last ever walk. Kyle heard the staff chatting to themselves, and peered over the banister to see what was going on. Gregory was busy relaying the orders Eric had already given to him, making sure they were executed properly. Kelly and Bebe chatted and giggled as they cleaned, whilst Pip and Leopold chipped in with the dusting and polishing too. Kenny and Christophe were lounging against the doorframe of the drawing room, their duties not extending to inside the house. The last of their hard work had already been completed.

As handyman, Kenny had fixed whatever remaining appliances needed to be fixed. Tenorman Hall no longer needed to be suitable for hospitality, for living in, only for exhibition. He had sorted out some issues with the lighting, most notably the chandelier in the grand hall. It was to be the opulent centrepiece that would take one's breath away when they stepped into this splendid, empty house. As gardener, Christophe had to cut back the grass, the wild flowers, and the weeds. He had also dug up a multitude of new flower beds. Kyle had lost count of how many times he had seen Christophe come into the house with a shovel in hand, dirt dotted on his face and caked into his boots. Gregory would scold him, and Christophe would roll his eyes, asking if he could fetch him an ashtray to put out his cigarette. Kyle chuckled at the thought, smiling away the brief pang in his chest.

He had only lived here a short while, but nowhere had ever felt more like home to him. When he had left here his heart had pleaded for him to go back. Would he feel the same way now? When they were leaving for good? He glanced at Eric, and knew he would be ridiculously content wherever he was, wherever their hearts took them because they would be following each other.

"There they are!" Bebe exclaimed, when she spotted them at the top of the stairs.

Eric and Kyle exchanged beaming, fortifying looks as they descended the stairs. With everyone gathered around the bottom, smiling up at them proudly, Kyle wondered if this moment would be the most ceremonial he and Eric would ever experience. It certainly felt as though they were embarking on something as challenging and exhilarating, yet as meaningful and rewarding as a marriage. Starting a new life together, in a new, faraway place seemed to the type of commitment Kyle would not only be comfortable with, but thrilled by.

"Isn't this exciting?" Kelly gushed.

"But terribly sad too," Leopold remarked. "We'll miss you both so much!"

"We'll miss you all too. You've been such helpful and faithful staff," Kyle replied. "Not only that, but you've been great friends."

"Yes, we cannot thank you enough," Eric added. "After all I put you through I am eternally grateful for your support."

The staff all glanced at each other, sharing one overwhelmed expression. Kenny then stepped forward and threw his arms around Eric, making him stumble. But Eric soon returned the hug and prompted a round of embraces. Their farewells were not exclusive to Eric and Kyle, since the staff would be returning to the nearby villages where their families resided, or taking up new posts soon. Kyle had just finished comforting a crying Leopold when he spotted Bebe. Her eyes were bright and glistening, and she was smiling at Kyle sheepishly with her hands clasped at her skirt. Kyle set his suitcase down and they threw their arms around each other, sharing a tight embrace.

Kyle heard her sniffle and felt wetness at his shoulder.

"I'm trying so much not to cry-"

"Oh, Bebe, it's all right," Kyle interjected. He gently tugged at one of her curls.

"You will write, won't you, Kyle?" she asked, pulling away. "I would love to know how you and Eric get on in New York."

Kyle nodded, squeezing her shoulders.

"I definitely will," I replied. "We have all your addresses and I'll write as often as I can, I promise."

Bebe pursed her lips and they piqued upwards into a satisfied smile.

"Thank you." She nodded.

"Thank  _you_ , Bebe," Kyle said, pulling her in for another hug. He didn't know how else to express his enormous gratitude. "I don't know what I would have done without you when I first came here."

"You're welcome," Bebe replied. "I think we both just needed a friend."

Kyle nodded once more, smiling though his eyes had clouded with tears. He spotted Eric throwing his arms around Gregory and Christophe's shoulders. They had refrained from hugging their fellow members of staff, refused to succumb to sentimentality, or surrender their professionalism. But if Eric wanted to give them a hug, as good servants they had to obey. Or no doubt that was their justification, Kyle thought. He made his way over to them and hugged them too before they could decline.

"Thank you so much," he said in the quiet space between their shoulders.

"It was our pleasure, Kyle," Gregory replied when Kyle pulled away. "We wish you and Eric a lifetime of happiness together."

"We always knew you would be the one to break the curse," Christophe added.

Kyle glanced at Eric and he immediately averted his gaze. He glanced at the recently polished wood carvings in the walls instead.

"Well, then thank you for believing in me, and in Eric too. I know he appreciates it greatly."

Gregory and Christophe nodded in appreciation, and the chatting seemed to die down. The intensity of such a swift, and yet arduous era coming to a close drew Kyle's gaze to Eric's, as if it was a force bigger than the both of them.

"I don't think there's anything else to say," Eric said.

Kyle shook his head, lips pursed and nose burning. Still, he cleared his throat and tried to speak.

"I suppose we should be heading off then," he added.

"Right, let me get your bags," Gregory replied, keeping his head down as he rushed to collect Eric and Kyle's suitcases.

"And I'll open the gates," Kenny added.

Eric and Kyle held hands as they followed Kenny out the door. But before they could step outside they glanced over their shoulders and saw the staff watching them.

"Goodbye, everyone!" Eric said waving.

There was a chorus of "goodbye!" and "have a safe trip!" that rang in Kyle's heart like rejoicing bells.

"Thank you!" he replied, waving back.

They then stepped out into the bright, sunny day. It was a day as glorious as the year previously, when they had first discussed their plans for the future. They trotted down the steps, to where the car was waiting on the drive. It was a new, open-top one that they agreed was a much needed improvement to their old car. Kenny had agreed too, and had pored over every shining detail until Kelly was jealous of not being the centre of his attention. Gregory was putting the last of the two suitcases in the boot, and Eric and Kyle wordlessly turned around to stare up at Tenorman Hall. On the wonderful summer day, it looked like it had weathered a mighty storm. In a way, Kyle supposed, it had.

It was still marvellous, however. Kyle hoped that the council would do a good job of taking care of it, and that they would succeed in attracting the locals to visit. More people needed to witness its beauty when it had for too long been forgotten. Eric decided to leave all the furniture, only taking small, cherished items like the silver mirror with him. So much of the furniture was highly valuable and steeped in history that Eric couldn't refuse when the council pleaded with him to keep it in the house. It would have been too painful to sell it all, Eric and Kyle reasoned, and they could always buy more when they arrived in New York. All that extravagant furniture could belong nowhere else but Tenorman Hall.

It would have been too much fuss to take the furniture all the way to Southampton and load onto a ship, anyway. Kyle was thrilled by the idea of being on the ocean, tasting the salt in the choppy air and seeing nothing but steely blue water for miles. Once in New York they would stay in a hotel on the Upper East Side, before looking for a townhouse in Park Avenue. That's all they wanted to decide on after the sale of Tenorman Hall. Their lives had been controlled by relentless time and expectation, and they wanted as little of that as possible in their new life together.

"I can hardly believe this is the last time I'll see Tenorman Hall," Eric commented, still staring at it.

Kyle nodded. "So many things happened here..."

"It's been in my family for generations. I wonder if they ever considered that one day such fantastical things could have happened in this house."

"I don't think anyone could." Kyle chuckled.

"Nobody would ever believe us," Eric agreed, in a more sombre tone. He turned to Kyle and grinned. "But I like that the story is just ours. No one could ever replicate it."

"Exactly," he smiled. "All these years with my head spent in books I never thought I would live out a fairytale of my own."

"Really?" Eric asked, fitting his hands at Kyle's waist and pulling him closer. "You're extraordinary enough."

Kyle snickered, and closed the humid gap between their lips. They were interrupted, however, by the sound of the boot slamming shut.

Flustered, they glanced at Gregory and saw that he was waiting with a wry smile on his face.

"Your luggage is all packed."

"Excellent, thank you again, Gregory," Eric replied, smoothing down his shirt.

He turned to Kyle with that fearless grin Kyle found so much courage in.

"Are you ready for another adventure to start?"

Kyle nodded, and reached up to place a kiss on Eric's nose.

"Let's be off then," he added.

Gregory opened the doors on the driver and passenger side, and Eric and Kyle shook his hand before they got in. Kyle stared out over the grounds, over the shimmering horizon as Eric stared the car. The deep, growling thrum of the engine was a challenging, but encouraging sound, beckoning them to begin this brilliant journey. They waved at Gregory as they drove off, and at the staff that had gathered at the front door. The pebbles crunched beneath the wheels as they made their way down the drive. They waved at Kenny too, when they saw him waiting by the large, manor gates.

Soon they were speeding down the country roads, hair blowing in the wind and exhilarated, satisfied laughter barely audible over the sound of the engine. Kyle realised it was one of those perfect moments that happen so often when you're free and in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite all the angst and drama I put these characters through in my fics, I really do love happy endings. It's definitely what you wonderful readers deserve! A huge thank you to everyone who read, followed, favourited and reviewed! Your appreciation and feedback really means a lot to me. I had issues with writing this fic, since my track record for completing historical AUs isn't the best, so I'm glad I can finally say I've conquered that. I wouldn't have been able to do it without the support of you guys! As for future multi-chapters, I always feel like I need to take a break from writing them once one is completed, but I honestly don't know what I'll end up writing next, pfft! I do have a couple of oneshot ideas I want to write, so stay tuned for more fics! Thank you so much again, guys, you've been brilliant!


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